


And We Meet Our Ghosts Everyday

by carvingcavansite



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Assault, Canon Universe, Domestic Fluff, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Murder, Non-Graphic Violence, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Story Arc, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-16
Updated: 2016-06-08
Packaged: 2018-05-27 01:33:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 51,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6264364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carvingcavansite/pseuds/carvingcavansite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve and Bucky had conquered death and the barriers of amnesia. Obviously, a few months away from each other wouldn't be so bad, would it? However, Bucky must learn to cope with a feeling of abandonment, and quell his fear that Steve won't come home. So when Steve returns sporting new scars, Bucky can't let it go. They both long for a normal life together - but they cast shadows too large to overcome.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Tick, Tock, Says the Clock on the Wall

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ThatKnightOfHeart](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatKnightOfHeart/gifts).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I originally wrote this fic for a [friend](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatKnightOfHeart), but I figured I could post it before Civil War came out and the fandom burned to the ground. *sobs*
> 
> Feedback is encouraged, since I'm new to Ao3. I would definitely like to know what I'm doing right and what I'm not!
> 
> Well, let the shitstorm begin!

It’d been eight weeks. Steve still wasn’t home. Bucky was getting anxious more and more each day, wondering exactly what Steve could be doing. He was overseas, going undercover in a foreign country. That’s all Bucky knew, and then… Steve had to leave. Those eight weeks had felt like forever. Ever since things had gone back to normal (at least, as normal as things could be), he settled into an old routine with Steve. They were constantly together, experiencing their new lives, while helping one another heal from their old ones. They were both a goddamn mess, though Bucky felt like he was more work than Steve could handle. But who was he kidding? He was talking about Captain fucking America. Now, since he’d gotten Steve, and himself, back, he didn’t think he could ever let him go again.

He was on the down-low for now, spending most of his time in Steve’s house (though he insisted on calling it “their’s”). But when Steve had to leave for missions Bucky wasn’t allowed to attend, he slowly went stir crazy in an empty house. He wanted to see Steve, or hear from him, but they couldn’t message because of the possibility of a cover breach. No one in the Avengers’ workforce trusted Bucky. He had no one to turn to. Well, except for…

“Hey, dreamy-eyes. Were you listening to any of that?” Natasha waved a hand in front of Bucky’s face, pulling him back into reality. He was bombarded by the aroma of coffee grounds and the dull roar of voices in the café.

He stared her straight in the eyes and said flatly, “None.” She laughed, rolling her eyes with over-exaggeration. She took a sip of her coffee as steam seeped through the cap, and sighed heavily. Bucky stared at her for a moment, waiting for her to relay whatever it was she was rambling about. When she didn’t, he continued to stare at her and raised his eyebrows. “Well?”

“Well, what?” she smirked, “You didn’t seem to have any interest in Steve’s whereabouts. Why repeat myself?”

Bucky immediately sat forward in his seat, mouth ajar, as he muttered, “You know? Where? What’s he doing?” Again, she raised her cup to her lips and averted her eyes, acting oblivious to Bucky’s eager response.

She quirked an eyebrow, her smirk still tugging at a corner of her lip. “Now you care.” She opened her mouth for a moment, lifting her gaze as if in thought, then nodded. “I might as well. After all, you are sort of his partner.” She smiled, reaching over to place a gentle hand on the coarse metallic one of Bucky’s. Again, she looked as if she were considering telling Bucky, and then sighed, tilting her head. Finally, she sat forward, intent with information. “I’ll let you know, just because you’re Steve’s best pal,” she winked, lowering her voice to a whisper. “We got word at headquarters that Steve’s cover was compromised, and he’s due to be home sometime tonight or tomorrow.”

Bucky instinctively grabbed Natasha’s hand as his eyes grew wide. “Compromised? What do you mean?” His breath caught in his throat.

“Don’t worry your pretty little head about it,” she said with a shake of her head. She noted Bucky’s hand had wrapped around hers, seemingly involuntarily, but she didn’t mention it. “He’s okay.”

“Define ‘okay,’” Bucky lowered his voice, his eyes growing dark.

Natasha noticed his expression and her smile lowered, letting a sigh escape her lips. She swallowed her words before muttering, “He got grazed. It’s nothing to worry about. Right now he’s in good hands. Really, James, you should trust Steve a little more.”

He averted his eyes, but glanced back at her when she said ‘James.’ He wasn’t going to get angry with her. She was right; He needed to trust Steve, and the rest of the Avengers. But it wasn’t up to Steve whether or not he got grazed, or worse. In the end, it was whoever was on the other side of the trigger. He knew that well enough.

“…How do you know?” he whispered, his eyes stuck to the table. He hadn’t touched his coffee.

“He called headquarters after getting picked up. He’s on a jet right now, flying over the Atlantic. It’ll take a good 18 hours, but he’s been in the air for about 3.”

“Fuck. I can’t wait 15 hours,” Bucky inhaled and clenched his jaw, letting his eyes fall closed.

“Why not? You’ve waited this long. You’ll survive,” she said and allowed a smirk to fall on her lips again.

“And what am I supposed to do? I can’t spend another second in that house. I’ll go fucking insane.”

She sat up with surprise in her eyes, and a breathy laugh escaped her lips. “Well, for one, you’re currently out with me. But if I’m not any good for entertainment, you could always go back home and get it ready for Steve… or get yourself ready.” She laughed, dismissing Bucky’s death-glare with a wave of her hand. “Heaven knows that apartment reeks of take-out and the B.O. of a lonesome, 98-year-old man.”

Bucky shot her another glare, which Natasha dismissed again.

“Heyyy, look who decided to show up,” she said as she scooted her chair closer to Bucky, letting Clint sit down next to her, across from Bucky. Bucky retracted his hands, placing them in his lap. Clint glanced at Bucky silently but smiled at Natasha. He then proceeded to place his foot on the side of Natasha’s seat, and she returned the gesture.

“You should thank me,” he joked, winking at Natasha, “You know he’s going to disappear the moment Steve comes back.”

“And I’m cherishing every second I have with him. Right, James?” she smiled, turning her head towards Bucky. He kept silent. He didn’t know Clint as well as Natasha (and that was only because she inched herself into Bucky’s life through Steve).

Clint lowered his eyes at the obvious tension exchanged across the table and cleared his throat. He muttered, adjusting himself in his chair, “Lively bunch.”

“Oh, please, Clinton. You know damn well we’re the most exciting things in your life,” Natasha turned back to Clint and tilted her head. “But I’m boring, right?” she flitted her eyes towards Bucky, which prompted a small smile to appear on his lips. She grinned at the small victory.

“I know, and that’s what scares me. I’m too old for a midlife crisis. Just the average guy, saved the world twice, and is simultaneously acquainted with a false God, a tin can, a computer with a crystal lodged in its forehead, an ex-assassin, two fossils, one of which also belonging to the tin can and ex-assassin categories, someone who really needs to lay off supplements, and a lab rat with twiddly-fingers,” he said nonchalantly, and made his point by counting each individual on his fingers. “My life is so boring.”

“Well, technically, that’s not your life anymore. You can also cross off the walking magnet, God-wannabe, and… and the big guy.” She stammered over her last words, but once they were out, she glued her eyes to the table. She tried to smile. Clint followed her gaze, and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, rubbing it with a coarse thumb. Bucky sat idly by, silent, and watched the exchange with a bit of a heavier heart.

It made Bucky think. Did she feel the same way about Bruce? Suddenly, she was starting to look more and more like himself. Not only in their past, but in their present. Natasha didn’t know where Bruce was… or if he was even alive. But she kept a steadfast walk and a smile on her face. She confided in the people around her, and allowed herself to stay strong for the sake of finding Bruce, and to continue helping people. Bucky didn’t think he could do that. It made him think lower of himself, considering Steve was coming home, and yet Bucky was worse company.

He thought he’d like to spend more time with her.

“Well, uh…” Natasha sighed, raising her head to meet eyes with Clint. A smile appeared on her face again. “Should we get something to eat?”

They did. Bucky didn’t. He was too fidgety, juggling between thoughts of seeing Steve soon and thoughts of Natasha. He ghosted over conversations with one-word replies occasionally, while going through the afternoon with little input. They went to a restaurant, walked through the town square, took some pictures… In a small outcropping park, they sat on a bench, Bucky on the edge next to Natasha. She seemed to understand his discomfort. Nat and Clint both exchanged stories, her stories being very brash, recounting life or death situations while in the company of the remaining Avengers, while his were mostly asking opinions on renovation and gushing about Nathaniel. Both sides took these stories in wholeheartedly. Bucky wondered if Clint also worried about Natasha. Then, he thought, probably not. He knew Natasha was a force to be reckoned with.

The only thing Bucky could focus on clearly was the hour. As they passed by, Bucky’s heart raced with more intensity every second. The sun moved across the sky, touching the tops of buildings. Bucky glanced at his watch again. Nearly five hours had passed by, and they moved slowly. He glanced at Natasha, speaking more words than he had all day. 

“Hey, uh… I probably need to get back to the apartment. It was nice seeing you. And… and you, Clint,” he said, and Natasha glanced at him with wide eyes for a moment, but nodded.

“Yeah, yeah! Go ahead, don’t let us keep you,” she grinned widely. God, her smile was glued to her face.

…It was nice.

Bucky nodded in response and stood up from the bench. She reached over and grabbed his metal arm, and Bucky turned back towards her with surprise. She mouthed, ‘Knock him dead,’ and gave him a wink. Bucky let a smile tug at the corner of his lips.

The walk back home felt like it took ages, but went by in a haze. Bucky could only think about opening the door and finding Steve sitting inside, which made his heart knock in his chest, but he knew he’d return to a hollow apartment. He walked down sidewalks, ignored stares, crossed intersections, turned corners… Finally, he descended into the complex that Steve lived in, heading upstairs, pulling the key Steve had made for him out of his pocket. When he opened the door to find it dark, with the lasting heat of the day seeping through the windows, he sighed heavily. He didn’t know why he expected Steve to jump out and surprise him 10 hours before he was due to be home. Nevertheless, his heart weighed heavily in his chest when that wasn’t the case.

Bucky spent the next few hours counting them down, nitpicking at the apartment, making sure everything was orderly, even going so far as to make him and Steve dinner. He knew Steve wouldn’t be home in time to eat it, but he set up the table anyways, and stared blankly across the room as he pushed his food around on his plate. His mind was clouded, his vision blurry, while the only thing breaking through was the steady rhythm of the clock on the wall. 7 P.M. 8 P.M. Eventually, once he’d given up and the food had gone cold, he put Steve’s food into containers, stashed them in the fridge, and threw away his own.

He made their bed, cleaned the dishes, changed his clothes, took a shower, practically doing anything to pass the time. But time didn’t pass quickly enough. By the time it was 10 P.M., Bucky had taken Steve’s old sketchbook and sat down in the living room.

He flipped through the pages, ones he’d seen countless times before, but relived every moment whenever he saw them again. He skimmed his eyes over portraits of Sarah, alleys in Brooklyn, fairs and celebrations, various animals, and landscapes that Bucky could feel that he’d seen before. Then, further in the book, once they’d gotten mixed into the war, he drew his feelings, like being a show monkey, battlefields, fallen brothers, and…Peggy. He focused on her features intently, not remembering her well, but knowing how much Steve loved her. The way Steve looked at her, which was the same way Bucky held him in his own eyes. The way Steve drew her was…with endearment. And the thought caught in his chest. Peggy was certainly beautiful, strong, clever. He understood.

Then, he got to the last portrait in the book. All the pages afterwards were left empty. The last drawing—Bucky, right after being rescued from Zola. He could feel his stomach churn at the thought of that man, of that memory, but he looked at the image anyways. Bucky was cut, dirty, broken, but he was smiling. That was the page that made him feel simultaneously gleeful, but also left a hollow place in his chest. He reached up, tracing the page with his hand. His fingers ran over his familiar features, but this person couldn’t feel more distant. Bucky knew this was the last thing Steve had drawn, right before Bucky had fallen to the fate he was doomed to. Yet, even as Steve had left this notebook unfinished, he clung to it through all these years, leaving the portrait of the man Bucky used to be in its wake.

Bucky wondered, why? Who was the man that had plummeted to his “death,” that Steve cared so much about in the life he had before?

Who was the man that Steve loved now?

Bucky placed the sketchbook on the coffee table, left with those thoughts swimming in his head with no real direction. Again, the clock ticked alongside his thoughts. And soon, they became his lullaby as his eyes lowered. He tried to keep himself awake to see Steve come home, to be with him, to hold him, but it was becoming harder with every moment he waited. All he could do was sit and occupy himself with his own thoughts, knowing he wouldn’t be able to sleep the full night, but feeling urged to fall into his nightmares.

Where was Steve now? Bandaged up, probably sleeping. Bucky laughed at the thought, his eyes closing again. He slumped in the recliner as his head lolled onto his shoulder. Maybe now he wouldn't have to wait so long.


	2. Once Upon a Dream, You Were Mine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you perhaps have not seen my profile, I will be posting chapters of a series on Wednesdays and Saturdays (probably at like midnight lmao). I was going to go with Wednesday and Sunday, but since those are both church days, it felt a little sinful. 
> 
> Who am I kidding? Every bit of this is sinful.

_It was cold. Frigid. Numbing. That was all Bucky could feel—nothing. He couldn’t move, and could barely see. And all he saw was white. Then, he realized, it was snow. He tried to look around, and saw that he was standing with a group of others, who were clad in kevlar suits, identical to Bucky’s. He saw the insignia on the sleeves of their jackets. Hydra. He tried to move, but soon realized he was already walking, and he couldn’t control his body. He was walking with the other assassins, through the biting cold that they had grown accustomed to. At first, he was confused, but not afraid. Soon, his perception of what his life was melted away, and he was back to his right mind. He’d grown to know this place, and these people. There were no strings attached, and you could kill someone without feeling anything. And that’s precisely what he was made for._

_The Winter Soldier had started moving in stride with the other assassins, more confident in his steps. He reverted back, eyes cold and brow furrowed. Nothing mattered except for the mission. And it would be finished. He had a debrief in his head that he couldn’t remember taking place, but that didn’t matter when he knew what he must do. They kept low as they approached a heavily monitored area in a deep valley, hugging the side of a mountain. Snow kept them hidden, as they remained. They infiltrated the bunker with ease. Wind gushed into the entryway, alerting nearby guards. Routinely, they raised their guns and mowed down any waking bodies inside. No emotion._

_The Winter Soldier forced open a latch with his metal arm and stepped inside. He looked around, taken a bit by surprise. He was in a factory he didn’t recognize from the mission description, and not where they were intended to be. That was when he noticed the other assassins were no longer with him. It was eerily empty. He kept his gun raised._

_He stepped into the room, persistent on completing his mission. He wouldn’t let unpredictability prevent him from doing what he sought to do. He reached a balcony and placed a hand on the railing, looking over onto the steep drop before him. He kept his rifle firm in his grasp, focusing on any clanking of metal or hushed voices. Across the threshold in the walkway was a metal grid bridge, and on the other side was figure he didn’t notice before. Immediately, he raised his weapon, prepared to shoot, until he saw his face—it was his own. Only, this one had short hair, dog tags, a sweat-stained undershirt, and…no metal arm. The Winter Soldier, bewildered, but cold-faced, merely stared across the bridge towards him, who was staring back with no expression. Dirt, blood, and all._

_His face remained empty as he spoke._

_“Who the hell are you?”_

_The Winter Soldier gave no response. He only approached him, seeing the figure was doing the same. They were like two sides of a mirror. When they were close enough, The Winter Soldier noticed how Bucky seemed to mimic his movements. He raised his metal arm, which Bucky raised his flesh one in turn. The Winter Soldier silently tilted his head with Bucky, and both donned expressions of anger and confusion._

_His eyes drifted over the figure’s shoulder. Someone stood there, holding a large shield decorated as the American flag. The newcomer’s mouth opened, and he muttered, “Bucky.” The Winter Soldier heard this name come from behind him and whipped around, to find no one there. He turned back again to see that both figures were gone. He looked around in surprise, still trying to figure out exactly what was going on._

_And then he began to feel something he’d been conditioned not to—fear. He could feel the ground begin to shake, and desperately, he grasped onto the metal railing beside him. He looked around frantically. What was happening? Then, the bridge began to creak and groan with the shaking building._

“Buck?” _He heard the same voice and tried to find the source to no avail._

_The bridge began to collapse, the grates bending and falling to the ground far below. The Winter Soldier looked beneath him to find that the floor had been engulfed with flames. Explosions rang out, as the earth seemed to tremble. He heard the echoes of the same voice that called the name ‘Bucky,’ as well as his own voice, but he couldn’t remember speaking._

_“Just go, get out of here!”_

_“No, not without you!”_

_The Winter Soldier cusped his ears, letting go of the railing. He stumbled against the railing on other side as the bridge twisted and shook, all until it gave out. The Winter Soldier fell towards the flames, his eyes wide with terror._

“Bucky!” _The voice was gentle, but louder. A hint of laughter could be heard. Again, there was no sign of who was speaking._

_As fire consumed his vision, he blinked, finding white again with open eyes. He was back in the snow, but he was still falling. As he plummeted, he saw the tail of a train on a steep cliff side. He’d seen this before. Why couldn’t he remember? He heard a voice chase his falling figure, the same voice as the one reaching out to him. The name replayed in his head as he continued to hurdle to the ground._

_“BUCKY!”_

Bucky jarred awake, sitting forward in his seat. His hands trembled as he looked around, his dream fading, but the aftermath cemented into him. He blinked as he processed where he was. He felt a soft hand on his shoulder, and he glanced around to find Steve staring back at him with a warm smile.

“God, it’s like waking up a rock,” Steve laughed in a wisp, bent over to meet Bucky’s gaze. Bucky said nothing in reply and blinked away tears, which formed at the feeling of comfort that Steve seemed to bring with him. He simply wrapped his arms around Steve’s neck, at which Steve replied by wrapping his arms around Bucky’s waist and pulling him to his feet.

“Fuck you,” Bucky muttered into the nape of Steve’s neck, burying him into his embrace. He felt as if he let Steve go, he’d vanish into thin air again. He tightened his grip, breathing shakily.

“I missed you too, Buck,” Steve exhaled with fabricated appreciation, rubbing Bucky’s back. They both settled into a silence as they stood there, locked in each other’s hold, and breathed each other in. Steve pulled away, earning a grunt from Bucky, until he kissed him. Bucky noticed the feeling of stubble growing on Steve’s chin. His hands slid down to Steve’s chest, content. With Bucky still shaken and half asleep, his lips quivered messily against Steve’s, but neither of them cared. Steve smiled and looked at him with calm eyes. “Let’s get to bed. I’m exhausted.”

“I’m with you there,” Bucky said softly, his eyes glancing to the empty space beside them. Really, he wanted to do anything but sleep. He wanted to stay like this with Steve, for as long as he could. Sleep was something he hated to return to, but he didn’t have any choice.

Steve led him into their bedroom, still as close to Bucky as walking would allow. He groaned as he laid down, pressing a hand against his side, right above the hip. Bucky guessed that’s where Steve was hit. Eyes glued to this place, he murmured, “You okay?”

Steve nodded with a grimace, settling onto the bed, lying down on his other side. “Don’t worry about it,” he grunted.

“You can’t tell me that when I had no idea what you were doing the past two months,” Bucky said as he raised an eyebrow, settling onto the other side of the bed, staring across at Steve.

Steve only glanced at him for a moment. He didn’t want to get into it. He just said under his breath, “I know,” before extending his arms to Bucky, scooting towards the middle of the bed. Bucky inched to Steve and snaked his arms around his torso, careful to avoid his waist, where he was sure a bullet indented Steve’s skin. The thought scared him. It only reconfirmed his fear that he could never keep Steve completely safe, despite how much he wished he could. After all, wishing never did any good for anybody.

Bucky sighed as they pressed their bodies together, feeling Steve’s solid hold close him in. For the first night in what felt like an eternity, Bucky felt warmth in his chest. But he knew this was simply the high before the crash. He’d have Steve to hold at night for a few weeks at most, but then he’d only be ripped away to leave him lost. And every single time he left, Bucky got worse. He became familiar with the idea that Steve may never come home.

But he couldn’t think about that. He needed to keep Steve close while he had him, so he could have the moment to hold onto once it was gone. He breathed deeply, letting his eyes fall closed. And they laid like this, whispering sweet nothings, touching, simply being in each other’s company as they grew used to the idea again. And then, tomorrow, they’d pick up their lives from last time they were together, and maybe have some new stories to tell. It was an endless cycle of the climb and fall, that Bucky couldn’t help but feel as if they were stuck in a limbo. It couldn’t last forever… could it?

 _You’re thinking about it again._ He told himself that he should focus on what was in front of him, right now.

Steve had trailed off, and his breathing became slow and heavy. Bucky tightened his grip, opening his eyes slightly to see Steve’s sleeping face. His softly shut, enchanting eyes, relaxed expression with still creased eyebrows, all made him look surreal. Bucky could only describe it as being…tranquil. Something beautiful that he wondered if Steve thought the same about him. He doubted it, but he hesitated at the thought, because as Natasha said, he should trust Steve more. It wasn’t a crime to apply it to this situation, was it?

He raised his right hand to rub the line between Steve’s brow, eliciting a grunt from him. Bucky smiled for the first time in a while.

He closed his eyes, though he knew it was unlikely that he’d fall asleep. He’d probably gotten all the sleep his body would allow in those last 5 hours it took for Steve to get home. So, he inched as close as he could to Steve, moving down to press his ear against Steve’s chest. He could hear his heartbeat going steady. Bucky wondered if that was what serenity felt like. He was in the arms of his best friend, the man he loved, and could go to sleep with him in peace, without having to worry about returning to the mission. He finally had somewhere to call “home.” That’s what mattered.

He had actually fallen asleep, or, at least, something as close to sleep as he could get. He more or less dozed in and out of awareness, but never really reached dreamland again. The remaining hours of the night just seemed to blur by in a rotation of nearing sleep, waking up, and laying there for a while. The smallest movement from Steve pulled him back into their silent, dark room. But that was okay. He was content with being in Steve’s arms, even if he wasn’t conscious. God, he was a heavy sleeper. Bucky played with the idea, having one-sided conversations with Steve, which were all the more hilarious if he actually got a response from him. He also hummed to him, laced his hair in his fingers, traced the lines of Steve’s collarbone and chest… He tried not to rile himself up too bad. It wouldn’t do well to wake Steve up with a hard-on stabbing into his thigh.

Bucky saw that a soft light was showing on the curtains, and he looked at the clock over Steve’s shoulder. 6:47 A.M. God, time seemed to move like an inchworm the past day. Bucky sighed, wishing he’d be able to sleep just so he could wake up in the next few hours with Steve not practically inanimate. He looked up at his face for a moment, keeping it fresh in his mind as he turned around. He could hear Steve make a small, throaty noise as he let Bucky move. Once Bucky settled back down, he pressed his back against Steve, who in turn wrapped his arms around Bucky’s waist. He tried to keep Steve’s image in his head, reminding himself that Steve was with him, holding him close. He held tightly onto the hands that laid idly on his stomach and clenched his jaw, feeling the thought of Steve disappearing overwhelm him. He tried to fight closing his eyes, thinking that if he lost that moment, he’d wake up with Steve gone.

And that became truth. Bucky woke up with the space beside him empty.


	3. Who's There?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God damn it, Sam.
> 
> Well, I guess it was better than showing up...later. *wink* *wonk*

He shot up in bed, looking around. His heart pounded against his chest, which he stilled by placing a firm hand over it. He tried to keep himself from it, but a grimace settled onto his face as he fought back tears. Hours before, he had dreamt he was set to kill someone again. Then, Steve had come to save him from his nightmares, and whisked him away to an embrace. He didn’t realize that Steve was simply another dream.

Bucky should’ve known it was bullshit. The thought furled in his stomach, setting off a boiling fury at himself. He needed to stop setting himself up for disappointment. He couldn’t allow himself to be vulnerable. He sat up in wrinkled bedsheets, trapped in his anger. He pulled his knees to his chest and laid his head against them, allowing himself the grace of a few tears. Leaving them unkempt and staining his cheeks, he lowered his legs and stared at his metal hand. His fingers curled tensely, at which he threw his hand away in frustration. He abruptly got out of bed, pulling the sheets with him and trailing them across the floor. He strode into the bathroom and turned the faucet on, staring into the mirror, hunched over the sink. The water was searing hot, but he dismissed it as he splashed his face with it. He grabbed a towel and dried his face, rubbing hard enough to leave his face red. It was a way to vent without destroying Steve’s property.

He glared into his reflection. He thought of the man he’d long forgotten, but had been visited by in his nightmares. His eyes were sunken, his brow left a crease in his forehead, and his jaw was locked. Not like the warming features he knew Steve had fallen in love with. But that didn’t matter. It seemed no matter whether or not he had Steve, he could never keep him.

He pried himself from his own glare and walked back into Steve’s bedroom, and picked up his phone from off the nightstand. He didn’t use it for much, but Natasha insisted on keeping it so they could text each other. He found himself speaking to her more when Steve was gone. He glanced at the lock screen, and, speaking of the devil, Bucky had a new message from Natasha.

_How’d things go? I bet he kept you busy ;)_

Bucky stared at the message. He read it over and over, eyes flicking across the screen. He glanced around him and, without replying, placed the phone back down and walked briskly out of the room. He immediately noticed the open windows, letting in the early morning light, but more importantly, the smell. His eyes swept over the living room, finding nothing until he walked towards the kitchen, noticing the hum of a microwave. Bucky could hear his heartbeat in his ears as he rounded the corner, seeing Steve sitting down in a dining chair. Bucky padded silently closer, stopping in the entryway to the kitchen.

Steve was bent over one of his new sketchbooks, where Bucky could hear the light scratching of his pencil. Steve still hadn’t noticed him, which he gratefully appreciated, seeing as tears had stung the corners of his eyes. He didn’t rush to Steve, or call out for him. He simply stood there, keeping the image of Steve cloaked in the early hour golden glow of the morning, while moving over his sketchbook with intent and focus, all while keeping a certain grace in his figure. Bucky swallowed the words that attempted to crawl up his throat and merely wiped away his tears, silently gathering himself. He wanted things to stay the same. He didn’t want to start the morning off with unneeded commotion. Though, he didn’t think that would keep Steve from finding some way to adore him. He still found himself doubting Steve.

His footsteps were light as he approached Steve, with his head craned to see over his shoulder. Steve heard him walk towards him and glanced back, a grin appearing on his face. “Someone’s finally awake,” he announced as he turned back to his sketchbook. Bucky said nothing in response but placed his synthetic hand on the nape of Steve’s neck, trying to reassure himself that he was real. The microwave beeped multiple times as a reminder that whatever was inside had been heated and was probably soggy. Steve continued to etch onto the page, while Bucky leaned over to see what he’d drawn.

Across the full span of the page, he’d drawn Bucky’s sleeping figure in landscape. It seemed to have been done a while ago, as Steve was cleaning up the edges and shading the portrait. Bucky was shifted slightly from the position he’d fallen asleep in, probably because Steve had gotten out of bed. It was a miracle that he didn’t manage to wake Bucky up. Bucky’s lips turned up as he snidely remarked, “Steve Rogers, America’s sweetheart and savior, draws you in his personal notebook while you sleep!”

That earned him a playful hit on his thigh, at which Bucky laughed and moved behind Steve’s chair. Steve tutted, “You know, anyone else would’ve thought this was the sweetest thing in the world. But no, you think it’s creepy.”

Bucky glanced away for a moment, his smile falling. “Well, I’m not anyone else, am I?” Bucky whispered, leaning towards Steve’s ear. He wrapped his arms around his neck and leaned his head against Steve’s. Steve turned his head, shifting his body in his chair. He looked at Bucky with his eyelids low.

“No. You aren’t,” Steve whispered before snaking a hand around Bucky’s neck, pulling him close. The kiss was full of countless empty nights of longing, slightly rough, if only because it was fueled by that lust. Steve grabbed Bucky’s hip with his other hand and turned himself around in his chair, beckoning Bucky into his lap. Bucky curled in his lips, eyebrows furrowed to keep himself from making noise. He draped his legs over Steve and straddled him, inhaling sharply when their bodies came intact. He’d been itching for this feeling again, but he also wanted to move slowly. He placed his hands on Steve’s chest, whose own hands clasped firmly onto Bucky’s waist.

“Fuck,” Bucky uttered as he shifted, creating friction between the two, which he didn’t mean to do. Well, maybe he did mean to. He wasn’t going to admit that, though. Steve groaned and grabbed his wound, face distorted. Bucky pulled away slightly and looked down, cursing under his breath, “Oh, shit, Steve. I’m sorry, I forgot-”

“No, no, it’s okay. Don’t,” he said, his voice gritted, as he pulled Bucky close to him again, nearly closer than before. “I need you, Buck.”

Pop went the boner.

Bucky stared wide-eyed for a moment, eyebrows raised, and noticed the heat in his cheeks but didn’t care. He also noticed the fact that he was now jabbing Steve’s stomach, which wasn’t so easy to just pass off. Steve didn’t mention it, considering this exact situation was probably the thing he wanted to happen. It wasn’t the first time they’d done this, but Bucky didn’t think he’d ever get used to it (or get over the feeling as if it were the first time). Bucky couldn’t keep himself from Steve’s determined expression, dead-set on making a mess of Bucky. The thought made him fidget, not wanting to provoke any more thoughts that would worsen his downstairs situation. Bucky broke himself from the stalemate and leaned down, his hands sliding up to cup Steve’s head. He let their lips crash together, with no real direction at first, but falling into rhythm with each other. Steve’s hands traveled up Bucky’s back, settling on his shoulder blades.

He pulled away from Steve, with shuddering breath. He stuttered, his lips swollen and red from contact, “Were… were you heating something up?”

“Breakfast sandwiches. They can stay in there for all I care,” Steve said with his reasons clear in his voice, as he closed he and Bucky’s gap again. Steve’s own face was flushed, lips wet, which only hardened Bucky’s resolve… among other things. Their teeth clanked slightly, evoking breathy laughs from either of them, but they soon lost themselves in each other’s taste. It’d been so long since they’d seen each other, not to mention any physical contact. Once Steve returned, Bucky found himself hungry for anything he could do to just be touching him.

Steve rolled his hips, pressing against Bucky, who whimpered slightly. He clamped a hand over his mouth, clenching his eyes shut. Steve didn’t try to make him move his hands, because he knew how to make Bucky squirm. Then, that was the thought that sent a shiver through Steve. Now his own arousal pushed at the hem of his jeans. Bucky definitely noticed this.

Steve laughed and closed his eyes, knocking his head against Bucky’s chest, who smiled. Bucky placed his hands on Steve’s head and cradled him against his body. He ran his fingers through Steve’s sleep-tangled hair and smiled. He readjusted himself, deciding to take the wheel while Steve tried to regain his bearings. He bent his legs, sitting on his heels. He braced himself on the table behind Steve with his hands and began to rock his own hips, rubbing against Steve. Steve’s eyes glued to Bucky’s hips rolling smoothly on his lap. He bit the edge of his bottom lip with his teeth, drawing his eyebrows together in concentration. Bucky found himself mimicking the expression without meaning to. His eyes closed as he released his lip, letting his mouth hang ajar.

There was a knock at the door. Immediately Steve looked from Bucky’s nether regions to the front door, his face almost instantly changing from husky to surprised. Bucky stopped moving, and grit his teeth with an inhale.

“Steve.”

“What?”

“Don’t you fucking dare,” Bucky jeered.

“But someone’s at the-”

“Don’t you answer the fucking door!” he locked eyes with Steve, hoping he wouldn’t leave him to hang out to dry.

“Buck, I’ve got to see. What if it’s work?” he said with persuasion tinting his voice, but it wasn’t fooling Bucky.

“They can slide a nice message under the door,” he mocked, but failed, as Steve moved Bucky off of him and got up from the chair. Bucky sat, defeated, in the heat of Steve’s chair and of his own body. He could feel the places that Steve had touched him, as well as the never-failing bulge in his shorts. Steve jogged over to the door, while Bucky laughed at the unmistakable outline of his dick in his pants. Bucky took this as a mini-victory, knowing whoever was at the door was about to witness something interesting. Steve took time to readjust himself at the door, which was more or less trying to quell the monster in his pants. It wasn’t working very well. Bucky found himself biting his lip at the sight.

Steve eventually gave up, having hid his arousal as well as he could, and answered the door, making sure to keep his hips out of view.

“Hey, Sam!” Steve smiled and straightened out a little more, but grimaced slightly when he noticed he was exposing himself, and ducked his hips back out of sight.

Sam looked at Steve with confusion and laughed at his shuffling. “I’m not even gonna ask. I just got word from Nat that you were home so I thought I’d stop by and say hi.”

“Yeah, hey! How’ve you been? Miss me?” Steve nodded quickly in response and tried to crack a sarcastic smile.

“Yeah, it’s been a while! Life’s been boring without my running buddy,” he kept taking note of Steve’s movements, thinking exactly what the hell he was doing. To try out a theory, he moved to step inside the apartment.

Steve moved to close the door and ran over his words, “Uh, that’s not, you should- I just, I’m in a lot of pain, y’know?” He nodded, shutting his eyes when he realized how stupid that sounded.

Sam nodded, confirming his thoughts. “Riiight. You got grazed, huh? How’s that doing?”

“It’s doing fine,” Steve glanced around uncomfortably.

“I’m not interrupting anything, am I?” Sam quirked an eyebrow, knowing that was exactly what he was doing, judging by the fact Steve seemed reluctant to show anything below the belt.

“Um, no, why would you be?” Steve smiled reassuringly.

Bucky was listening to the conversation with a malicious smile, wondering if he should do what he thought he should. His cheeks were still plastered red, his lips set in a pout. _Fuck it._

“Stevie, who’s at the door?” he whined, getting up from the chair and leaving the kitchen, walking into the living room. His boner was showcased in all its glory, alongside his lewd expression (which he also added half-lidded eyes and raised eyebrows, just for a little bit of extra-submissive flare).

Steve whipped around and blocked the entryway in the door with his body. “Buck! Go!” he hissed under his breath, waving his arm to send Bucky off. Bucky shuffled into the bedroom, adding a little stumble. Steve turned back to Sam, still blocking the opening, too embarrassed to notice he’d just exposed himself.

Sam’s eyes drifted to Steve’s pants, then back up to Steve. He inhaled, placed a hand on Steve’s shoulder, and said, “You’re gonna open that wound.”


	4. The Climb Before the Fall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You all knew it was coming.  
> *wink*

“Bucky, what the hell was that?” Steve groaned as he flopped onto their bed, which Bucky was already lying down on. He stuffed his face into his pillow, covering his expression which was distorted with shame. Bucky laughed, tracing the lines of Steve’s back with his right hand.

“What? It’s not like I was making anything up. I’m pretty sure Sam knew what he’d gotten into,” Bucky propped his head on his metallic arm, looking at Steve with his lips upturned.

“But you didn’t have to walk into the living room and show off your…” Steve turned his head, glancing at Bucky’s crotch. He quickly averted his eyes and muffled into the pillow, “Ughhh.”

“You’re the one that decided to answer the door with your own dick whipped out, not to mention you left me to wallow in my own horniness,” he laid down beside him, an eyebrow raised. “I’d say you got what was coming to you.”

“…I guess,” he murmured, and looked back over to Bucky. His eyes drifted across him, then dropped back to the bed. Steve sat up on his knees and leaned over Bucky. Bucky rolled onto his back, looking up at him with the frustration having left his face. A smile crawled onto his lips as he slid his hands up the bed to settle above his head. It felt thrilling to be at the mercy of the person in front of you (of course, when that person was Steve. If he felt trapped by anyone else he’d give them a swift punch to the jugular).

Steve arched down to kiss Bucky, bringing a hand to cusp his cheek. When he raised his head again, looking Bucky in the eye, Bucky lowered one of his own hands to hold Steve’s, which was firm against his cheek. He turned his head and kissed his palm, and leaned into his touch. Steve pulled it away to wander down Bucky’s chest. His hands continued down until they reached the hem of Bucky’s shirt, which he pulled over his head. Bucky gasped at Steve's touch, ghosting across his skin. Steve’s hands traveled further down, while his lips teased Bucky’s jaw, tracing his neck. He left discolored spots scattered across his neck and chest, all while his hands moved to rub in between Bucky’s legs. Bucky bit his lip, catching a moan in the back of his throat.

Steve continued to kiss Bucky’s neck, finally drawing a moan from him. He gave a breathy laugh against his skin. Bucky couldn’t take it anymore. He took Steve’s head in his hands, pulling him back up to look him in the eyes. He kissed him roughly, while Steve slowly laced his fingers under the edge of Bucky’s shorts, pulling them down. When he felt Steve’s hands graze against his member, only separated by the material of his boxers, he swallowed the groan inching its way up his throat.

It was the first night they’d been like that in a long time. Since Bucky had felt Steve’s hands, his lips, his body against his own. It was bittersweet. He wanted to be able to make Steve feel bliss. He didn’t want Steve to think he needed to treat him with some sort of preciousness—he didn’t deserve that. He knew Steve was afraid of hurting Bucky, or moving too quickly with something Bucky wasn’t comfortable with, or was afraid of Bucky rethinking his feelings. He wasn’t wrong.

Bucky reached in between them, his right hand tracing down Steve’s navel, and unbuttoned the top of his pants. He heard Steve grunt against his collarbone. His metal hand came around to hold Steve’s waist, the side opposite of his wound. As Steve’s own hand pulled Bucky’s boxers down and wrapped around his member, Bucky fought back a gasp as he unzipped Steve’s pants. Bucky’s thumb played with the head of Steve’s cock as he grasped it. Steve’s hips bucked forward slightly, enticing a throaty noise from him. Bucky grinned, teeth falling to bite his lip. Both of their coarse hands began to move, Bucky’s hand more eager, while Steve’s hand was slow and deliberate. It was taking its toll. Precum budded at Bucky’s head, while he could only pant in response. His metal hand slid up to Steve’s back, pressing on his solid body, keeping their chests pressed together. Bucky could feel Steve’s chest rising and falling heavily against his own. He started to pump his hand in a rhythm, not as fervent as before. Steve’s hips began to jerk again, thrusting into Bucky’s hand. Bucky didn’t really notice he was doing the same, or how long he’d been doing so.

He thought he’d begun to peak when Steve started uttering small moans, lips messily finding Bucky’s neck again. He felt the tingling sensation as his mouth trailed back up to Bucky’s lips, invasive and wet. Bucky shivered and groaned into his kiss, trying not to forget the fact that he was giving Steve a hand job. It took most of his will power to keep his hands from trekking every inch of Steve’s body, which was slightly damp with sweat. Bucky settled with his metal hand, though it couldn’t feel the heat of his skin, or the creases in his abs. That, he really wanted to feel. Steve’s free hand was firm on Bucky’s hip, giving him leverage to thrust as he pleased. Bucky was more or less trying to roll his own hips, but Steve’s hand enough was pushing him to the brink.

That was when he felt Steve shake against him, choking back moans, as his hand stilled. Bucky’s mouth fell into a smirk as he pulled his hand away, slick with cum. “You, _first_?” His voice was more rasped than he’d hoped, but he kept his smug tone anyways. “I’m surprised, Captain.”

Steve, breathing heavily, only raised his eyes. Bucky was frozen by his piercing gaze. They were glazed and consumed by longing. To add to what could only be Bucky’s demise, he raised his right hand, covered in Steve’s cum, to his lips, and drew his tongue across his palm. Steve’s eyes hardened, while Bucky knew exactly what he was getting into. And he loved it.

Steve inched down the bed, hooked his hands in the bends of Bucky’s knees, and pulled his legs up. Bucky propped himself up on weak elbows, eyes low, as the confidence had melted from his expression. He watched intently as Steve placed his head in between Bucky’s thighs. The sight itself made Bucky shiver. He could feel his member twitch when Steve ran his lips across the head, placing small kisses. He dipped his head and licked him from the base to the head, making Bucky’s toes curl. He kept himself from twisting his thighs and crushing Steve’s head.

Steve grinned at Bucky for a moment before glancing down. He licked his lips, as well as the head, before opening his mouth and taking in Bucky’s cock. Bucky inhaled sharply, finding his right hand diving down to tangle in Steve’s hair. His hand ushered Steve’s bobbing head, while his hips hungrily rocked. Bucky, watching Steve with anticipation, found his eyes closed as his head fell back onto the pillows. His breath crawled out of his throat in shuddering moans, while Steve hummed against his member. The only thing that held out his climax was the fact that he was restraining himself from fucking Steve mercilessly and probably choking him. But, from his experience, it’d be safe to say that Steve didn’t have a gag reflex, props to his enhanced abilities.

Stars erupted in Bucky’s vision. His mouth fell open, letting loose the pleasure he’d been caging up in his teeth. His legs quivered against Steve’s hands, while Steve took Bucky’s cum in his mouth, which was still wrapped around his member. Slowly, he slipped his lips off, licking them as he looked up at Bucky with lowered eyes. Bucky gathered his breath again, letting his fingers slip out of Steve’s hair.

“You’ve…got something on your lip, there,” Bucky whispered breathily. He raised a weak arm to Steve’s cheek, wiping off a bit of his own cum, which he licked off of his thumb.

Steve could only laugh, dropping his head against Bucky’s thigh. He propped himself on his knees and crawled towards Bucky, both neglecting how they’d been undressed, and fell onto the bed beside him. Bucky’s hand could only weakly raise to Steve’s jaw, pulling him close. They could taste each other in their mouths.

“You’re beautiful,” Bucky muttered, keeping his eyes open enough to look into Steve’s. Steve seemed awake enough, but, considering he had come down from his climax a few moments before, Bucky was still shaken by the feeling. Steve grinned, letting their foreheads bonk together. His skin glowed in the light seeping through the blinds. Bucky, legs still shaking, composed himself and slid off the side of the bed. He walked towards the bathroom, stripping the rest of his clothes, and leaned over the shower. Steve’s eyes followed him, debating whether or not to follow him.

 _Screw it_ , Steve thought and shot out of bed, discarding his pants as he ran into the bathroom. Bucky squealed when he heard Steve run up behind him, shuffling his feet. He turned as Steve reached out and grabbed Bucky’s waist.

“I need a shower! I’m all sticky, thanks to a certain someone,” Bucky laughed, his arms curling up at the feeling of Steve’s hands, all the while standing in the nude.

“Without me?” Steve teased. He smiled with exhaustion still in his expression, holding his hands firm on Bucky’s hips. And before he knew it, they were both laughing messes, fumbling around in the shower, slicking off each other’s bodies.

Bucky sat back in the kitchen, one of Steve’s shirts draped loosely around his frame, with his wet hair pulled back in a bun. He’d slipped out of the shower before Steve, knowing if he’d stayed any longer they’d probably go through another round of vigorous “exercise.” Bucky’s fingers were already pruned enough.

Bucky’s eyes caught on the sketchbook, which was left on the dining room table when Steve had abandoned it to rendezvous with Bucky. He turned the cover, seeing that in the first few pages, he’d drawn various new marvels of the world. By the looks of it, Steve had spent most of his time loitering around cafes and storefronts, drawing the days of the future as they went by. But he drew them with a sort of… melancholy. It seemed to be a theme throughout this book. It was the same emotion evoked when Bucky looked on at a portrait of Peggy, lying in her hospital bed. He seemed to be going through a timeline of Steve’s life from when he’d woken up. Drawing was his way to vent, to feel like he belonged in the new world.

And then he got to Steve’s new family—Natasha, Sam, Tony, and Bucky (once he’d found out he was alive). These sketches seemed to be with a much lighter heart. And, he supposed, it made Bucky’s heart lighter seeing them as well.

After a while of Bucky sitting idly with these pictures, Steve waltzed in with a towel draped around his waist. Bucky looked him up and down, selectively around his navel, and the ‘V’ shape in his hips. He came and sat down beside Bucky, who looked up at him with a subtle smile. Bucky allowed himself a small smirk and glanced at Steve.

“You’re gonna strut around in a towel?” Bucky raised an eyebrow.

“Yes, don’t judge me,” Steve didn’t meet Bucky’s eyes as he flipped through the pages of his notebook, filled to the brim with drawings. He stopped at the most recent page, showing Bucky’s earlier portrait, and began to sketch the frame of Bucky’s body from memory.

“Oh, I’m not complaining,” Bucky smiled, making his gaze obvious. Steve continued to focus on the new drawing. Bucky’s eyes came back to find the page, seeing his own body being displayed, from Steve’s perspective. It was odd, and yet alluring all the same. He looked desperately back to Steve, not wanting to interrupt what could only be described as magic. Thankfully, after a while, Steve noticed the silence and cleared his throat.

“Are you wearing anything under my shirt?” Steve questioned as his eyes traveled to Bucky’s waist, which was barely cloaked.

“No,” Bucky said with confidence clear in his voice.

Steve only leaned forward and muttered, “Good.”

Bucky braced his fingers on his chair as Steve kissed him, finding that his towel had ever so slightly slipped from his waist. He was sure that both of them were well enough exposed. He tilted his head, trying to keep his eyes from falling shut. Steve’s hands traveled up Bucky’s arms, holding them gently. It seemed to lock him in. It made him secure. He jumped at the sound of a phone vibrating on the table. He whipped his head around to meet with Steve’s phone, which he supposed he brought from the bedroom.

Bucky looked at the caller ID with dark eyes. It was Fury. He knew exactly what was about to happen. When he looked at Steve, it seemed like he knew as well.

Steve warily picked the phone up and pressed it to his ear. “Captain Rogers,” he announced, his voice booming.

For a moment, his eyes flitted about, as Bucky could hear the muffled voice of Nick on the other end. After a while, Steve’s expression dropped, and he stood from his seat. Bucky wanted badly to grab onto his wrist, to tell him not to leave. But he let him. Steve only walked into the kitchen and opened the balcony doors, pacing around as he talked with Fury. To Bucky, however, it sounded more like debating.

“You can’t be serious.”

“For how long?”

“Nick, I just got home.”

“And what about my bullet wound?”

Then, Steve went quiet for a moment. Bucky could feel frigid air sweep through the room.

“Fine.”

Steve stormed back into the dining room and threw his phone onto the table. He didn’t look at Bucky, but only left him feeling terrified as he went back into his bedroom and slammed the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What universe does this reside in? I have no clue. I mean like, Nick's their leader, but it's post AoU.
> 
> I have no idea.
> 
> Halp.


	5. I See Home in Your Eyes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (oh my god fucking. I was almost done formatting the chapter and about to post it and just. I accidentally went back a page and lost everything ;-; I'll try to re-write whatever I had here *cries*)
> 
> I really appreciate all the feedback I've gotten! Seriously, it's crazy, I wasn't expecting this fic to get so much light after such a little amount of time, but really, thank you, everyone!  
> ｡：ﾟ(｡ﾉω＼｡)ﾟ･｡

Bucky cautiously opened the bedroom door, looking on to see Steve sitting on the edge of his bed, propping his head in his hands. Steve had draped the towel across his lap. He kept his head low, but glanced back at Bucky for a moment when he heard the door shut softly behind him. Bucky slowly sat beside him, pressing down the edge of the bed. He raised a feeble hand and placed it on Steve’s knee. He sighed heavily and glanced at Bucky again, but he could tell that he wanted to avoid his gaze. “What was that?” Bucky whispered, knowing exactly what it was. He needed to hear it from Steve.

Steve was silent for a while. He took another deep breath in and said just above his breath, “They’re sending me out next week.”

Bucky nodded slightly, wetting his lips. He dropped his head, while trying to keep his voice. “How long?”

Steve shook his head, dropping his gaze again. “It’s not very clear. I just know... it could take from…” he stopped to gather his breath, “from half to…to a full year.”

Bucky’s heart skipped, when he could only stare at Steve. Steve refused to look at him. Bucky wanted to call out, to read his eyes, to see what the hell he was feeling. But he didn’t. He muttered, “What?” before he could think of something to say.

Steve looked helplessly at him and raised his hands. “The rest of the Avengers are going, too. There’s… there’s something going on, but I’m not sure. The briefing is tomorrow, but I can tell it’s not going to be minimal footwork,” he said, waving his hands in a dismissive gesture. “Bucky, I… I can only think that it’s war.”

Bucky tried to brace himself for that inevitable last sentence. When it came, he winced, and clenched his jaw shut. He knew that if it was at the will of the Avengers, he couldn’t go with him. He couldn’t do anything. Not a _damn_ thing. “No,” Bucky could only breathe out, his lip quivering. They’d been through that before, no one could make them go through it again. Steve finally looked up at him and inched closer. He said nothing. Neither of them did. 

“Buck…” Steve whispered. Steve’s voice melded into the background of Bucky’s head as he stared emptily past him. He tried not to cry. He failed. Tears began to roll down his cheeks. He tried to silence the noises he made, but his breathing was erratic and shaky. Steve only leaned towards him and wrapped his arms around Bucky, pulling him close. Bucky’s arms grasped around his neck desperately. He stuffed his face in the nape of Steve’s neck, feeling the warmth of his skin, letting himself sob.

“Don’t leave me,” Bucky whimpered, hardly being able to get those words out in the first place. He repeated himself, not really aware of what he was saying anymore, but he didn’t really care. He just kept mumbling on, mixed in with the sharp intakes of breath and hiccups whenever he tried to control his breathing. 

Steve just rubbed his back, whispering, “I won’t."

Bucky shook his head and started to ramble on again, “But you will, and I can’t do anything about it or know where you are, and no one will listen to me and I can’t talk to you for who knows how long or know if you’re okay or if you’re even fucking alive.”

Steve, with protest from Bucky, pulled away, holding his head in his hands. Bucky saw through the tears that blurred his vision that Steve was crying too. Bucky tried to turn his head away and wiped his eyes, but Steve’s hands kept a firm hold on his jaws. “Bucky, I… I know it’s hard. I can’t stand the idea that I just got you back to have to be without you again. When you… when you fell, I thought that was it. My best friend was dead in a matter of minutes, with no warning, when I had him in my grasp. I keep telling myself that I should’ve been quicker. I should have kept you with me, and made sure you didn’t get blown out of the side of a train in the first place. I couldn’t do a damn thing about it. I couldn’t go back in time. I was stuck with the idea that I’d spend the rest of my life without you. And that thought slowly ate away at me. And now I can only think that if I had saved you, I could have prevented… You know.”

Bucky let his eyes travel back to Steve’s. He raised his right hand to wipe his eyes, clearing his vision for a moment. Steve’s eyes were bloodshot, but their blue shined brilliantly. His eyelashes clung to droplets, while his cheeks were lined with whatever tears he’d shed. He wasn't sure why he was surprised that Steve was crying as well. Maybe it was because he thought him stronger, less vulnerable. Only, it was more the other way around.

Steve kept his eyes locked on Bucky, while Bucky’s eyes tried to avoid his gaze. “Bucky, ever since I… since I lost you, yeah. I’m fucking terrified. I’m terrified of losing you again. I overthink your feelings. I constantly worry you’ll leave me. I’ve lived in a world without you too long. Ever since you…” he paused. “It felt like I was dreaming when I saw you again. Some days I think I’ll wake up and none of this would have been real.”

Bucky said nothing. He only thought of his own dreams, and only a few hours before that he’d thought the exact thing had happened to him.

He wasn’t the man Steve was talking about. Not anymore. Bucky couldn’t take it. He placed his metal hand on Steve’s chest, firm, pushing him. Steve raised his eyebrows and moved his arms from Bucky, whom felt cold in their wake.

“…Steve, who was I?”

Steve’s eyebrow furrowed again. He hesitated before speaking, “Bucky, you don’t remember?”

“Who?” Bucky repeated and raised his eyes to Steve’s.

“…what do you mean?” Steve could feel his pale eyes pierce him.

Bucky got on his knees, sitting forward towards him. “Steve, look at me. Who do you see?”

“You.”

“Who is that?”

Steve kept his eyes level with Bucky’s for a moment, feeling his heart jump in his chest. “James Buchanan Barnes.” Bucky laughed a wispy, demeaning, laugh. Steve stared at him for a moment and asked, “What?”

“Steve, you’re staring at the ghost of someone else. We’re not the kids who grew up in Brooklyn together. I’m not the man that found you in alleyways picking fights, or – or the man that fought beside you. That man fell off the side of that cliff.”

Steve dropped his eyes. His eyebrows drew together, trying to hold something in. Bucky couldn’t tell what.

When he spoke, his voice came out weak, “Bucky, I… I can’t lose you again. I know… I know you’d like to be able to fight with me, or for me to be able to contact you. But please, don’t do this.”

The pleading in his voice made Bucky wince. But it made no difference. Bucky just averted his eyes. He kept silent, but nevertheless reached with his right hand and grabbed Steve’s wrist, yearning for contact, with his metallic hand placed aside.

Steve could only stare at him. He raised his hands, holding Bucky’s cheeks gently. “I don’t know… I don’t know how to convince you. I don’t know if I ever will. If it means I have to tell you time and time again, I will. Buck, you are still that man. You aren’t lost. You never were. Things just…” he trailed off, his mouth gaping open for a moment. He tried to find the words to say. “The person behind that mask was not you. You’re the person with me, right here. Bucky, you… you know what I see when I look at you?”

Bucky’s eyes stayed glued to the floorboards. He could only shake his head.

_Don’t._

“I see you. I don’t see some…other Bucky. Because there isn’t one. I don’t see you back on the base, after bringing you back with the 107th. I don’t see you in uniform, dragging me away from an alley-drunkard, probably with a bloody nose. You are Bucky. You are the man I grew up with. Nothing will change that.”

Bucky shook his head again, clenching his eyes shut. _You’ll only make it worse._ Bucky wasn't sure if he meant Steve or himself.

Steve, noticing Bucky’s silence, only took confident hands and pulled Bucky back towards him, holding him against his chest. He held him like this, and Bucky let him. Bucky’s arms found their way back around Steve. If he was bothered by the tears that spotted his chest, he didn’t say anything. Bucky wished he would’ve, and he wasn’t looking for reassurance. He tried to control his breath, but he was left gasping for air with a grimace, his eyes lidded as he lost pathetically to the tears trying to break free.

He didn’t want to cry. He didn’t want to be sitting against Steve, in his arms, struggling for air as he choked through his sobs. But what was he doing currently? Exactly that fucking thing. “I’m just so fucking tired- I’m so tired of everything,” Bucky managed to stutter out, shaking his head frantically. “I just want- I just want you here, that’s all- all I want.” He didn’t know how long he’d been crying. He didn’t really care.

Steve didn’t respond. He tightened his grip on Bucky and slowly laid them down on the bed. He heard Steve whisper under his breath, “I’m sorry.”

That in itself was an answer.

There was a lull of silence, albeit the hiccups coming from Bucky as he tried to bottle his tears. They were wrapped desperately around each other. Bucky stared emptily at the ceiling, listening to Steve’s heartbeat. His fingers played idly with Bucky’s hair. 

Steve laughed lightly. Bucky looked up to him with slight bewilderment. Steve cleared his throat before whispering, “You know… when you enlisted, I felt like I could only chase behind you. No one wanted me. You were doing the exact thing I wanted to do since I could remember. And I hated you for it. I hated that you were accepted with open arms and I was rejected time and time again. So I had to just sit behind while you were gone. I dreaded every knock on my door, because I expected to open it up to a Marshall telling me that you were dead,” he said, and paused for a moment. Then, he took a shaky breath in, “But then, I could. I could fight beside you.”

Bucky swallowed the words in his throat. He tried to muffle himself in Steve’s chest once more.

“But I still couldn’t save you.”

Bucky looked away again, furrowing his eyebrows. He repeated Steve’s words in his head. Before everything, when they were still just two best friends living in Brooklyn, Steve had lost everything. His mother, his father. He didn’t have anyone except for Bucky. And then, all of a sudden, he was gone too, doing the same thing his father had died doing. Bucky was in his shoes, now. Bucky felt his chest tense up, thinking of all the cold nights Steve must have spent alone, determined to join the army, even if it meant getting caught with falsified papers. He could remember how he’d come back to find him curled up on the couch amongst scattered forms. He didn’t know how he could keep that punk safe. He never wanted to leave him.

“I was drafted, you know,” Bucky mumbled, throat still rasped. He didn’t want to look towards Steve, afraid of how he’d react, so he tightened his grip on him. He didn’t know why he thought that’d make him stay.

Steve looked down, his eyebrows raised. His breath hitched for a moment, and Bucky could only imagine what was going through his head. He could count on Steve being upset. Bucky kept his drafting a secret, because he knew how much Steve valued the cause. He didn’t want Steve to be disappointed in him. Though it was a little late for that, he thought. Either way, he grabbed Bucky’s hand, glancing down at them as he intertwined their fingers. He didn’t say anything for a while, until his words came softly, “I’m going to talk to them tomorrow.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone's wondering about that end bit, it's based off this [lovely piece of information](https://historicallyaccuratesteve.tumblr.com/post/83032306968/magpieandwhale-absentlyabbie-shinykari) I came across! Seriously, props to the peeps that figured this out, it really opens up some new ways to hurt- *coughs* I mean, _express_ these old men. 
> 
> I hope this chapter doesn't come off as like, teen-angst or distasteful, idk, I'm just reading through it and it feels a bit whiny. But the show must go on, and this chapter is a necessity for ~progression~  
> Gotta get over myself.
> 
> Thank you guys so much <3


	6. One Question

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (I'm uploading this on my phone cause my laptop is not currently available. I hope the format doesn't get fucked)
> 
> My babies are all grown up...  
> *single tear*

He and Steve laid on the bed. Bucky saw that the sunlight through the blinds had moved, but he didn’t care with the passing time. They stayed like that, eyes red and hair wild, but they allowed it. They found their unkempt expressions endearing. Steve twirled Bucky’s hair in his fingers, while Bucky’s right hand rested on Steve’s cheek.

They laid silently. The only noise in the room was the clanking of the fan hanging from the ceiling and their breathing. The occasional honk came muffled through the window. 

Bucky inched closer. He pressed he and Steve’s foreheads together as their chests came into contact, and his hand slid down to feel Steve’s heartbeat. He closed his eyes as he felt the rhythm come like a metronome, slow and powerful. He took a breath in and met Steve’s eyes again. 

“I love you,” Steve said, his voice low, in a slight whisper. 

A smile sneaked onto Bucky’s lips as he replied in a lighter air, “I love you, too." 

Silence followed those words. It seemed to follow them like a plague. Steve didn’t seem to care that he was still nude, and Bucky _definitely_ didn’t mind. His hand slid down Steve’s side, stopping at the gauze that covered his wound. Ghosting over it, his nose scrunched up a bit. “We should probably clean this. You did manage to take a shower with this thing on.” 

Steve nodded silently, sitting up on his elbows, and Bucky watched as he (finally) put some pants on. Bucky followed him into the bathroom, watching him as he sat on the toilet seat and raised his arm, glancing down at the bandage. He slowly peeled it off, revealing his wound, which had completely healed. A film of fresh pink skin showed as the graze had repaired itself with alarming speed. Bucky stared at it with a surprised smile. He kneeled in front of him, tracing a light finger close to the mark, eventually pressing his hand against Steve’s side. Steve laughed at the feeling, but didn’t show any sign of pain, if there was any at all. 

Bucky breathed with amazement, “Were you fucking with me about this hurting earlier?” Steve just shrugged, a grin solid on his face, but Bucky’s smile fell in turn. “You mean to tell me that you scared me shitless for sitting in your lap?” Bucky considered this for a moment, and looked up to Steve with fire in his eyes as he came to a realization. “Of course, you might have just wanted me to get hot and bothered.” 

“I was definitely trying to do that,” Steve smiled and placed one of his own hands on Bucky’s, which was firm on his scar. “But, to be honest, it was still open yesterday. I’d only gotten shot the day before, after all.” 

“Oh, shut up,” Bucky shook his head and laid his head on Steve’s lap, eyes glued to the spot underneath their joined hands. Steve was a supersoldier in his own right. But it still didn’t change the fact that he’d gotten shot, even if it was a graze, even if it’d already healed. What if his shooter had better aim the next time he got caught without his shield? He wouldn’t get the chance to heal if a bullet went through his brain. 

Bucky tensed up when the image of a bullet leaving the back of Steve’s head stained his eyes. _What the hell am I thinking?_ Despite telling himself he didn’t want that thought, it wouldn’t leave him. Steve, lying on the ground with glazed eyes, with blood underneath him in a growing pool. His eyes stared without seeing. 

Bucky shivered, feeling his breath escape him weakly. He curled his legs close to him and slumped onto the bathroom floor, his head still laid in Steve’s lap. He tried to dismiss his thoughts, but even as he opened his eyes they remained. He could feel his heart flutter in his chest, that of a rabbit’s. Steve leaned over him uneasily, trying to look at him. Bucky shook his head, attempting to silently tell Steve he was fine. Steve placed an apprehensive hand on Bucky’s neck, lacing his hair in his fingers. No matter what he told himself, that Steve was with him, that he was okay, Bucky could only think of his thought as a possible future. 

He managed to ride it out. Steve didn’t say anything, and Bucky wasn’t sure if he wanted him to or not. He was more or less afraid of what he’d say. Bucky hadn’t removed his hand from Steve’s scar, and stayed curled around his legs. After a swath of silence, Bucky inhaled heavily, gathering some of the breath he’d lost. He stood as if nothing had happened and walked a few paces away to lean against the doorframe, placing a smile on his lips, though it was insecure and frail. “Y’know, you don’t have to try very hard to get me wound up.” He tried a smirk on, which was a little more confident. 

Steve appeared to shake himself from his worried state, returning a weak smile. He seemed to be trying, as well. “Is that so? I think that just makes me want to try harder.” 

“Oh, _daddy._ ” Bucky bit his lip. 

Steve looked at Bucky with his eyes wide open, before falling into a laugh. He placed a hand over his eyes, shaking his head. “Please do not ever call me that again.” 

“Nat was right,” Bucky smiled victoriously and walked back into the bedroom, throwing himself onto the bed. 

Steve rolled his eyes in reply, sighing as he stood up. “We should go to dinner.” 

“What?” Bucky furrowed his eyebrows, watching Steve walk over and lay onto the bed beside him, a bit gentler than Bucky’s descent. 

“You know, go to a nice restaurant, eat some good food. We haven’t gone out together since… you know,” Steve pursed his lips for a moment before hitting Bucky on the chest. 

Bucky laid on his side with a little laugh. “You really are insane.” 

“I’m serious! It’d be nice. Besides, Natasha’s taken you out, why shouldn’t I?” 

“I had nothing better to do,” Bucky shot him a glance before shaking his head. “Besides, you’re Captain America.” 

“Does that matter?” Steve raised his eyebrows as he clicked the pieces together. “You know I don’t do this because I want people to praise me. I couldn’t give two shits about any headline on a “news” website.” 

Despite trying, Bucky couldn’t help the smile that snuck onto his face, and closed his eyes. “God damn it. Your nobility makes me want to puke sometimes.” 

“Good. It means I’m doing at least one thing right,” Steve laughed and slapped Bucky straight on the backside before sliding off the bed. Bucky swung his arm after him, missing Steve by only a few inches as he jumped away with a shriek. Bucky’s smile grew. Steve walked out of the room, Bucky’s eyes glued to the muscles prominent in his back, while they also drifted just a _bit_ lower. Bucky found himself biting his lip, but the moment was gone as Steve’s figure disappeared into the kitchen. He came back with the breakfast sandwich, which had cooled off by then. He didn’t seem to care, seen as he’d already eaten half of it, and stuffed the other half in his mouth. 

Bucky chuckled with a grimace and got out of bed. He stopped and rubbed the spot Steve had hit, which stung him as he stood. “Dear god, do you want my ass to deflate?” 

“Absolutely not,” Steve replied a little too fast, which he realized as he lowered his head, but smiled nevertheless. Bucky howled with laughter and walked into the bathroom. 

They spent the next few hours lazing around the apartment, lying in the living room, then attempting to get ready for the night ahead (once Steve had convinced Bucky to go in the first place). They’d managed to get half-dressed in slacks and button-ups, waiting to put on the jackets until they absolutely needed to. Steve shaved the stubble that grew on his chin, which Bucky silently mourned. By the time it was only half an hour before they were going to leave, Bucky was lying on Steve’s chest on the living room couch. Steve was absentmindedly watching the TV, while Bucky was more or less dozing off listening to Steve’s heartbeat. Eventually, Steve checked his phone and said they should get going. 

The ride there was mostly Steve excitedly droning on to Bucky, while he blocked it out and gave him small noises of response, and tried to stop his flaring nerves. His heart palpitated, which he ignored by fussing over he or Steve’s hair, fixing his tie, or buttoning and unbuttoning his sleeves. Steve seemed to be excited, but wasn’t ignoring the fact that Bucky was visibly uncomfortable. He supposed he was keeping the mood light to make him feel better. 

It made Bucky remember the double dates they’d go on. Back then, their roles were almost switched. Bucky was the one enthusiastically convincing Steve to go out, while Steve was stubborn to agree. Now, Bucky could only feel like he was being the downer in the situation. He knew someone would probably recognize Steve. He knew he couldn’t hide the fact he had a metal hand. 

Though, he supposed, neither of them could keep their relationship a secret forever. The Avengers all knew (or figured it out), and they didn’t give a shit. They knew if they even muttered the word “traitor” around Bucky they’d get a nice, Captain America edition talking-to. It didn’t make Bucky feel any better. He knew everyone just tolerated him, other than Nat. He knew if he wasn’t Steve’s best friend he’d already be dead. 

What if Hydra had nabbed another person to test? What if Bucky had died with the rest of the 107th, and hadn’t been held captive? What if he couldn’t take the pain, and the serum had failed? Steve wouldn’t think twice before filling the Winter Soldier with lead. That was the only reason he was alive. 

Bucky audibly gulped thinking about that, drawing Steve’s attention. He reached over and gently grabbed Bucky’s left hand, frigid from the cold night air. He didn’t seem to acknowledge the feeling of numbing metal as he interlaced their fingers and brought the back of his hand to his lips. Bucky looked over with confusion, snapping out of his trance. They locked eyes for a moment as Steve pulled into the parking garage. They walked, hand in hand (to Bucky’s dismay), down the sidewalks of Brooklyn to a corner restaurant. They didn’t gather much attention, seen as it was common for men to show affection in this day and age. That was something Bucky couldn’t wrap his head around. 

They walked in, listing their names, and were taken to their pre-reserved seats. The table was a bit more secluded than the others, which Bucky was thankful for, but the restaurant was still packed. The few tables in the back section were full, mostly couples or business parties. _What kind of money did Steve put into this…?_

Bucky, warily, was led to his seat by Steve, across from a rounded table clothed in ivory. The table was already set with lit candelabras and a vase of roses. It made Bucky vaguely uncomfortable, in such a wealthy setting, while he himself felt out of place. His prosthetic drew eyes towards him, which didn’t help the situation. 

They sat across from the table from each other, but it wasn’t far enough to keep Steve from leaning over to place a small kiss on Bucky’s lips. He smiled brightly at him, which Bucky couldn’t help but mirror. He sat against the back of his chair and inhaled, puffing his chest out proudly. Bucky threw him a smirk and a quirked eyebrow, which Steve retaliated with, “What?” 

“You’ve been acting so weird,” Bucky smiled and shook his head, glancing up at the waiter who filled their glasses with pre-selected wine, which was coincidentally Bucky’s preference. It was all too suspicious. “You seem more affectionate than sarcastic. Are you sure you aren’t already drunk?” 

“Sadly for you, and for me, that isn’t physically possible,” he said nonchalantly as he reached over and grabbed his wine glass, raising it to Bucky before taking a sip. “The same goes for you. We can’t drown out our sorrows.” 

"Damn. It's a shame I can't see you bumble about meaninglessly and profess your love,” Bucky smiled lightly and glanced at the flames of the candles. He really didn’t know what Steve seemed to be anticipating. What the hell was he so smug about? 

They ordered their food, remaining in a small drone of conversation as their food came. Bucky felt like he should probe Steve for answers, but Steve merely kept his content expression. After a bit of drinking, eating, and blatant disregard for PDA, Steve let out a soft, nervous laugh. Bucky raised his eyes. 

Steve shook his head. His smile had fallen the first time that night. “Bucky, I know you’re worried about doing things like this, about… us. I know you blame yourself. You think I’d be better off without you.” 

_It’s true_ , Bucky added in his head, his eyes dropping. But Steve interrupted his thoughts. 

“Whatever you believe, I just want you to trust that I love you. No matter what kind of man you think you are. Because nothing will change the fact that you couldn’t help the things you’ve done. You aren’t the kind of man that would choose to do that. You aren’t a villain. You’re my best friend,” Steve said, his words brimmed with confidence, as he leaned forward in his seat. 

“Steve, we don’t need to talk about this—” 

“No, Buck. I need to tell you this. I need you to know that what happened to Howard, and Nick, and everyone else, wasn’t your fault. I’m not here to compare you to who you used to be. Yes, you’ve changed. But everyone has, for better or worse. I can tell you that whatever life has thrown at us, even death, we’ve overcome it with more strength than before. I can tell you that if the world were to condemn you, I’d be at your side. I’d turn my back on the world, Bucky.” Bucky stayed silent, his eyes refusing to meet Steve’s. He didn’t want Steve to throw away his life for him. “You are the only thing I need,” Steve paused before saying these words, his hand slipping into the pocket of his jacket. 

Bucky shook his head, clenching his eyes shut before muttering, “I know, Steve. And that scares me.” 

Steve edged forward in his seat again, holding out the hand that had dove into his pocket. “It doesn’t scare me.” 

And when Bucky opened his eyes again, in Steve’s hand, Bucky saw, was an open box that carried a ring. He inhaled sharply, looking at it with a mixture of happiness and fear. He brought a hand up to cover his mouth. “Steve, what the hell are you…” he managed to whisper. 

Steve stood and walked swiftly over to Bucky, kneeling below him in his seat. “Bucky, I want this to be our life. I don’t want to worry whether or not I’ll come home. I just want you, to hold, to sleep in the bed beside me. I want to spend my life, whatever time I have on this earth, with you. James?” 

Bucky could only stare, trying not to earn the glares of the people around them. Steve reached to grab Bucky’s right hand. 

“Would you marry me, James Buchanan Barnes?”


	7. These Walls Have Ears

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ohhhhh work is catching up to me  
> I had to rush to finish this chapter in time (ι´Д｀)ﾉ  
> If there are any mistakes please inform me <3 Thank you!

Bucky’s eyebrows furrowed. By the crestfallen look on Steve’s face, he supposed he wasn’t making the best expression. Quickly, he grabbed Steve’s waiting hand, to give him some reassurance as he fought the maelstrom in his mind. His eyes frantically darted around the restaurant, met by watching eyes and raised phones. He heard hushed whispers, some lighthearted and others a bit scornful. He met Steve’s gaze, which he found his face had been drained of all his previous confidence, which made Bucky weak. He took another fleeting glance past Steve, vacant. His chest had tightened to the point it was difficult to breath. 

He wanted to say yes—he really did. He just couldn’t help but think of the consequences. He felt as if a hurricane was swirling around in his head. Simply imagining being married to Steve made his heart flutter. He wanted to be with him always. But with how their lives were, he couldn’t think of it being possible. Steve was too busy with work, risking his life, while Bucky was a traitor to the United States. The more Bucky swam around in his mind, the higher his walls climbed. 

Then, he had to remind himself that Steve and Bucky could even get married in the first place. A lot had changed since their own time. The dawn of the new century brought many things they never dreamed of having. Before everything, the delusion of marrying Steve was nothing more than a fantasy—but the reality was kneeling right in front of him. As those thoughts came to Bucky’s head, his walls fell bit by bit. 

Maybe, just maybe, he could be a little selfish. 

“Yes,” Bucky breathed with a smile. Steve’s fearful eyes softened, and he returned Bucky’s gesture. 

Steve took Bucky’s left hand (which he found a bit strange, though he knew better), and slid the ring on his outstretched finger. Bucky shivered at the light scratch of metal against metal. Bucky stared at this hand, entranced, and with a smile placed against his lips. His doubts before had been doused. Steve only stood back up, leaning to steal Bucky’s lips, which he’d left uncovered. Bucky looked up through Steve’s calming eyes, which practically welcomed him to drown in them. He thought that’d be a nice way to go. Before Bucky could think, he found both of them standing, wrapped around one another. Steve swayed slightly, his lips pressed against his head, his nose stuck in his hair. 

Bucky heard clapping erupt around them. He looked away for a moment to see the masses of people that had stood from their tables, cheering, smiling, all for the newly engaged couple. Bucky’s heart jumped when he thought—what if one of these people recognized Steve, by some chance? 

There had to be someone. 

Bucky beckoned Steve back into their seats after a bit of greeting the crowd of people that wanted to congratulate them. Some other individuals sat by and watched, looking as if they’d eaten something sour. Bucky wondered why it was anyone’s business, really. In the back of his head, he wanted to pay for their meal and book it so he didn’t have to be around all of those watchful eyes. But he didn’t want to ruin anything for Steve. 

They finished their meal in the afterglow. Bucky had calmed himself a bit, but his right hand continued to tremble as he tried to handle his fork. He ended up just pushing around the tastefully-placed basil leaves on his plate. He and Steve kept a light air about them, and he could tell Steve was still a bit shaken as well. He supposed both of them had to process what just happened, and what it would mean for them. Then again, Steve wouldn’t have asked if he hadn’t considered that to begin with. 

He wondered if Steve was thinking of Bucky’s cautiousness. His hesitation was obvious, he knew that much, but he didn’t know if answering in itself was enough to rebuild the confidence that Steve had lost when Bucky left him in silence. He had to know why, right? He of all people knew that their marriage could end in a not-so-happily-ever-after. But, he supposed, if marrying each other could give them that fulfillment, that purpose, that peace of mind, there was no harm in it. Either way, Steve would have to return to the battlefield, whether or not they were bound. 

After a while, when the sun had finally left the city cold and black, Bucky noticed that people were lingering about the restaurant, and he wondered if it was just the bustle of the busy night. He wouldn’t be surprised, being Saturday night. However, he couldn’t help but think it had something to do with them. That was just foolish to think of, wasn’t it? Once they walked outside of the restaurant, it became clear. 

There was a large group of waiting bodies, some with cameras raised towards them, others fighting to get through the crowd. Reflexively, Bucky whipped around, panicked, and glared at the flashing lights. He noticed the color drain from one of the cameraman’s faces. Once he’d pieced together what was happening, he shielded his face with his right hand and hid his left in his jacket pocket. It was convenient that it hid both his ring and his prosthetic. Steve kept a firm arm on Bucky’s shoulder, leading him on the sidewalk. The cameramen followed, while the fans merely stayed behind in a huddled, disappointed group. Bucky heard them shout various questions as they continued to trail them on the dark streets, lit dimly by amber street lamps. 

_“Who is the man you’re with?” “Is it true you’ve just been engaged?” “What happens to your role as an Avenger, Captain?” “What about Agent Peggy Carter?”_

Bucky stayed hunched, trying to hide himself from any flashes. He felt like the wind had been knocked out of him. He knew it was a bad idea. He should’ve never done it. He should’ve never come. Now, Steve would have to suffer for it. 

“They sure got here quick,” Steve snickered. 

He _laughed_. How the hell? Bucky could only choke, in the midst of trying to calm his own panic, “We should have left after we finished eating. I can’t believe this is happening.” 

Steve cast a troubled look at Bucky, and though he knew he meant the best, it pierced him like daggers. He curled his lips and mumbled, “Can you breathe?” 

“Yes, shut the hell up.” 

“Good. Are you up for a run?” 

Bucky only looked at him, then back at the herd stalking them down the sidewalk, and gave a frantic nod. Steve cracked a smile and grabbed the hand that Bucky had obscured. He stood straight up for a moment and picked up his pace. The cameramen struggled keeping up even then. 

“Three,” Steve simpered. 

“Two,” Bucky chimed in, putting on a sluggish smile. 

“One!” 

And they were gone. Bucky peered over his shoulder for only a moment, seeing the plethora of paparazzi had stopped in their tracks, watching in awe. His smile grew a bit steadier, as Steve pulled him down winding roads, only encountering people still returning to their cars or bar-jumping. Their feet traced lightly on the cement, deliberate and powerful. Bucky found the expressions they left on passersby amusing, seen as they were two suited men flying past street signs. 

They stopped in an alleyway, barely illuminated by the light stretching across the bricks of the neighboring buildings. They both leaned against the alley wall, and weren’t breathing heavily at all, which would be expected. Even Bucky had lost his panicked breathing, because the adrenaline of the run distracted him. They stopped to wait for a moment and see if the walking drama-gorgers somehow magically followed them, though it was more or less an excuse to stop and talk. Steve started, which was for the best to keep high spirits. 

“So, now that I’ve got you in a dirty back-alley…” Steve sighed. 

“I like where this is going,” Bucky placed his fingers inquisitively under his chin, acting as if he was pondering the situation. 

They laughed. Steve was back to scolding Bucky, and Bucky was acting like he was back to doing the same. Steve, after a minute of uncomfortable silences and even more uncomfortable conversations, reached out and grabbed Bucky’s left hand. He looked at him for a moment, and they were back to walking towards their car, mostly concealed by the night. 

Whose thoughts clicked in that restaurant? Did they know the magnitude of their actions? Did they care either way? 

Bucky wasn’t paying attention as they got back into the parking garage. He didn’t know if Steve was, either. When he glimpsed at him, his eyes seemed to be staring a thousand yards away, as Bucky’s did. Bucky’s eyes stayed fixed outside the car window, darting between every light to catch up with the passing road. He stayed propped on his elbow, feeling as if he were doing everything in his power to keep his eyes open. There was no point, anyways. All that waited was the outline of buildings against a starless sky. The stars remained on the ground, and in the glimmer that reflected off of Steve’s eyes as they drove past overhead lights. He could only see his figure in the soft moonlight. It was strange to think that they were going home, when it seemed like only moments before he was still grounded in that dining chair, weighing the options for his entire life. 

He and Steve were getting married. 

He raised his head and looked over to Steve. He got an overwhelming urge to be next to him, to feel the warmth that seemed to beam off of him. He fidgeted in his seat, stretching the arm he’d been leaning on, and laid his head silently on Steve’s shoulder. He felt Steve tense up under him for a moment, seeing as Bucky probably broke him out of his own mindless trance. To reconcile, Steve reached over and placed a solid hand on Bucky’s thigh. 

They both collapsed on their bed when they returned, undressing along the way. Their bodies were worn, not from the physical exertion, but the encounters they had. Bucky, in nothing but his boxers, while Steve was a bit more decent to change into sweatpants, saw that his phone had multiple notifications. He chuckled when he saw Natasha’s name. His smile fell when he saw the messages. 

_Don’t ignore me, old man. You aren’t just Steve’s, you know >:(_

_La la la. I’m having the time of my fucking life_

_I have better things to do you know like hanging out with my cat_

_Fine then, I’ll text the other caveman_

_……he’s ignoring me too_

_James?_

_Fine, Bucky?_

_Do you prefer “dipshit”?_

_Dipshit, I just saw a very interesting headline_

_…Bucky, explain to me why hundreds of strangers heard about your engagement before I did?_

Bucky’s chest tightened as he clicked on a link Natasha had sent him. And, as he expected, a very blunt headline read, “CAPTAIN AMERICA, OUR IDOL?” She sent another, reading, “STEVE ROGERS’S SECRET LOVER.” She texted that an hour ago. His eyes only skimmed over their words, but he got the gist; suddenly Captain America decides he's gay and defies the sanctity of marriage, we can't trust anyone anymore, he's been seduced by a mysterious "mistress," lost all respect for him, yadda yadda, bullshit like that. He knew it wouldn't bother Steve, but it made the blood in his veins boil. And that was just the beginning. They didn't even know who Bucky was yet. Who knew how far those stories had spread? Bucky had just ruined that life they wished for. Somehow, someone was going to solve this "mistress" puzzle. The best case scenario was that he was dubbed Sgt. James Buchanan Barnes, and his death date would be scrubbed from Captain America’s museum. The worst case scenario was also being identified as the Winter Soldier. 

He supposed, removing his death date would be inaccurate. Sgt. Barnes was long gone. 

Steve settled into the bed beside him. He didn’t want to show him the articles. He knew he’d find out anyways, so it didn’t really matter. The question was: would he really stick by, ‘I don’t care about the headlines’? Would he really sacrifice his career? He wondered if Steve wrapping his arms around him, dismissing that entire evening (other than the good parts) answered his question. 

Before he got tangled up in Steve once more, he stared at their chat for a moment and typed a short reply. 

_I’m sorry._

_We can talk tomorrow, okay?_

_Goodnight, Nat._


	8. At the Threshold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who's back
> 
> Back again
> 
> Fury's back
> 
> (I know it doesn't make any sense for post AoU just go with it)

Steve was already up and walking around when Bucky jolted awake. Did he have a nightmare again? It was strange that he couldn’t remember, and it seemed like he was waking up later than normal. Even if Steve woke up before him, he normally woke him up the moment he moved. Bucky didn’t know why he’d been so tired recently. Normally, he couldn’t even sleep a full 3 hours. It was debilitating. That exhaustion made him feel vulnerable. 

Steve was pulling a relatively tight-fitting shirt over his head, and as he saw Bucky sit up, he threw a pair of pants at him. It draped over his head, as he wasn’t aware enough to catch it yet, and Steve laughed with a mixture of concern and smugness. Slowly, Bucky pulled the pants off of his face, letting them fall onto the bed. He ran his fingers through his hair, lightly tugging out small knots. It became unbelievably curly in the morning. Still a bit listless, he sat on the edge of the bed and through lidded eyes, attempted to put his pants on. When he struggled to do that, something so simple, he rubbed his eyes with frustration and shook his head. A bit of the vision he’d lost returned. Steve watched him with amusement plastered over his face. 

Steve didn’t want to say, _You’re sleeping more like you used to._

Bucky muttered, “Why am I getting dressed?” 

Steve replied as he walked into their closet, a bit more upbeat, “You’re going with me to have a debate.” 

He looked up towards his voice, his eyebrows raising. It took him a second to process the weight of his words. Steve returned to their room and looked at him. Bucky stared up with astonishment, while Steve shrugged under his gaze. Bucky stood, maybe too quickly, and felt his brain buzz. He had to stand still for a moment as his eyes went dark, until the heartbeat in his ears settled. Steve stood gingerly by, his arms extended, because it seemed like Bucky may have just fallen flat on his face. He shook the lightheadedness away and offered a smile. 

Steve escaped into the kitchen, nuking a quick breakfast. After combing out the knots in his hair, Bucky threw on a loose t-shirt and a hoodie with a cover album on it that Bucky had never heard of. Steve had been more proactive in catching up on modern music (and modern, for him, stopped at around the 80s). It didn’t have any words on it, which made it harder to understand. Apparently the symbol was more well-known; it was a prism, splitting a beam of light into a rainbow. How fitting. 

He washed his face to wake up a little more, and found himself looking in the mirror. He pulled at the bags that weighed under his eyes. He wondered if they’d go away if things continued like they were. He doubted it for some reason. 

Bucky couldn’t remember the drive to headquarters. Now that he thought of it, he might have even fallen asleep on the way there. Those thoughts seemed confirmed by Steve’s hand on his leg, and his patient eyes as Bucky came to his senses and looked around. There, in the midst of a forest clearing, was the infamous Avengers headquarters. Bucky took a steady breath to brace himself for the _thing_. He forgot his phone at home, but he thought it was pointless if he was just going to see Natasha anyways. He found his right hand becoming damp thinking about confronting her. She was going to give him hell for last night, and not for ignoring her. She knew he did that stuff all the time. She knew he was better with physical presence, and kept to himself otherwise. He wondered if it upset her if he didn’t answer. But that would imply that she wanted to speak to him in the first place. 

_Stop_ , Bucky told himself, frustrated with his own thoughts. She always went out of her way to be with him. He really needed to stop doubting people. But he just couldn’t trust himself. 

So, once they’d come inside, and Steve had descended into the works of HQ, Bucky found himself sitting in the lobby looking particularly lost. The workers around him seemed hesitant to walk past, and it was only then he noticed his jaw was squared off, and his eyes were narrowed, piercing anyone who came into the room. Timidly, he rubbed the wrinkles in his brow to try and soften them. _I probably look like an idiot._

Natasha ran into the room, stopping herself at the top of the steps leading into the lobby. 

“I couldn’t catch the other one,” she said, a smile drawing at the corner of her lips. 

Bucky’s face relaxed, with alleviation welling up in his chest. He sat up slightly, not able to speak, looking at her with exasperation. She accepted that silent answer and stepped down, sitting down beside him, giving him more personal space than she normally did. The first thing she did was grab Bucky’s left hand, looking at the wedding band around his finger. 

“Holy shit,” she breathed. “…It’s nice.” That content moment thawed as she hit Bucky on the arm. He muttered an _Owwuh!_ and looked at her with a pout. She immediately donned a look of disapproval. “What the hell was that man thinking? Cause I sure as hell know you didn’t ask to go,” she asked, and while Bucky was going to defend Steve, she did make a good point. “Do you give in to temptation that easily?” 

He stared at her. It was strange that, in that moment, he couldn’t tell if she was joking or not. “I’m sorry I didn’t text you. Steve proposing… god, it’s weird to say, even now.” He twirled the band in between his fingers. “It’s as much of a surprise to me as it is to you. It really wasn’t something I ever considered a possibility.” 

She sighed and sat against the back of the couch. “God, old man. You make it really hard to stay mad at you.” She peeked at him from the corner of her eyes. He had hung his head, his eyes fixed on the ring on his finger. “Don’t think you’re off the hook. Just wait ‘till I get my hands on glamour-pants.” 

“Glamour…? Nat, what the actual fuck.” 

She smiled, and Bucky found himself doing the same. They chattered on, while Natasha pelted him with questions regarding the night before, and Bucky tried to tell her that neither of them expected anyone to recognize them. That was a lie, considering it was all Bucky could think about that night, and he thought Natasha could tell. She went on anyways, asking him about everything down to the paparazzi chase and the alley-jumping. Bucky felt like that weight from the night before had been lifted. They eventually browsed articles of the incident, and found the running pictures, left distorted and blurry, in a humorous highlight of the night. They even found the picture where Bucky made eye-contact with the cameraman and gave him a heart attack (as the photo was subtitled, _‘The man seen with Captain America, his alleged fiancé, staring at me with ruthless eyes.’_ ). Bucky felt a little bit more confident laughing at it with Natasha. But in the back of his head, he could only be prodded by the thought that someone would recognize him from that full-on portrait. He wouldn’t be surprised if someone already had. But, for now, he was content just thinking about the look on that man’s face, with Natasha sat beside him. 

Bucky knew it was inevitable when Steve walked into the lobby. Natasha immediately stood, pointing a firm finger at him, but anything she was prepared to say was interrupted. 

“Fury wants us,” Steve said, taking a deep, strained breath in. He glanced at Bucky, who didn’t meet his eyes. She looked back at Bucky uneasily, afraid to leave him alone, and stepped towards Steve. He stopped her. “No, him.” He tipped his head towards Bucky, who looked up with apprehension. Bucky stood, a feeling of foreboding falling over him like a veil. 

Natasha approached him and placed a tender hand on his shoulder, looking him in the eye. “Don’t let him give you any shit.” 

Bucky forced a smirk. “Do I have much choice?” 

Bucky didn’t expect the glare he got when he entered his office. He didn’t know if Fury did it on purpose—just like Bucky, he could freeze with a glance, and not even try. There were two padded chairs facing Nick’s desk, but neither of them sat. Steve stood near Bucky, shoulders broad, crossed arms, with such a feeling of superiority that Bucky seemed to forget that he was under orders. Nick merely leaned forward, locking his fingers in front of him. 

“You’ve sure gotten popular.” 

Bucky answered with a glance. Nick exhaled through his nose impatiently, while Steve took a step forward, meeting Bucky beside him. Steve said with demand, “That’s not what we’re here for.” 

“I know it’s not. But I can’t let this go unexcused. You were reckless. I couldn’t give a damn that you went to dinner. I give a damn because you garnered a lot of media attention for making a show of things, and you brought _him_ ,” he pointed at Bucky. Bucky raised an eyebrow in response, but restricted himself from turning to Steve and saying, _‘Never thought my superpower would be invisibility.’_

Steve’s mouth sat ajar for a moment, before he spoke, unfaltering, “I was stupid, I understand that. But I don’t see why we care about a few bigots typing on a greasy phone screen.” Bucky found himself smiling at that, but quickly wiped it from his face. 

“This is why,” Nick announced as he stood, bringing up multiple articles on the monitor behind him. Bucky leaned forward as he read them, eyes narrowed. Two headlines he read were, “ROGERS’S COMPANION FOUND!” and “BUCKY BARNES: THE LOST HOWLING COMMANDO.” Others detailing the mysterious individual’s identity cluttered the screen. Bucky had to back up, falling into the chair behind him. 

“It didn’t take long for people to recognize you,” Nick seemed indifferent as he scrolled down one article, where Bucky was met by the picture of his own cold stare, in which he’d looked towards the photographer, before he had hidden his face. It was compared side-to-side with his war profile. “At first, rumors of your identity were shot down because you were confirmed dead by Rogers 70 years ago. But people started to realize, falling down that ravine meant your body was never found. They suggested that you just as easily could’ve survived if Steve could survive taking a dip into the Arctic. Of course, that created the conspiracy that you’re a supersoldier as well.” 

Bucky looked pleadingly towards Steve. He nodded, closing his eyes, in silent agreement. Bucky turned back to Nick, who kept his eyes firm on him. “What happens to me?” Bucky asked, trying to find steadiness in his voice. 

“For now, you’re just known as Bucky Barnes. We’re working to cover all our loopholes regarding your true identity,” Nick said, closing the articles, “but if anyone were to discover your affiliation with Hydra, there would be consequences for everyone in the Avengers’ workforce, including Steve. Which I’m sure you don’t want to be a possibility.” 

Bucky nodded. “What do I have to do?” 

“I’m glad you asked,” Nick said as he sat back down, resuming his former position. “Reintroducing you to the public as Cap’s right-hand man should be easy, since that’s what you used to be. We need to be prepared for every possibility, so it’s best to expect the worst and prepare for it. We don’t know who was aware of your work, and people need a reason to trust you if any of that information is released. You’re going to have to put in the same effort, in the same fight. I suspect that these idiots will get over their whining and go right back to cheering for Rogers. The public trusts him considering he’s the most patriotic motherfucker I know. Who better to work with, then?” 

Bucky sat forward, and both he and Steve looked at one another. Disbelief seemed etched onto their faces. 

“Congrats, Barnes. Welcome back to the field.”


	9. It's Dangerous, These Crumbling Walls

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

No one seemed to believe the fact that Bucky was sitting with the rest of the Avengers, being debriefed on their new mission. Bucky’s own thoughts of doubt were washed out as he found himself attentive, expression stale, reverting back to his soldier mindset. He absorbed every word, every mission detail. Their trouble lay in the man Steve was trailing for two months, who escaped. Steve hadn’t told Bucky anything about his mission, but he supposed it didn’t matter now that he was learning it from an Avengers representative. He was a cartel, tracing sales internationally, and for unknown supplies/substances. And he seemed very selective concerning his costumers, which were all Hydra officials. It was also interesting to Bucky that this man was allegedly enhanced. Steve didn’t tell him that. It wouldn’t be surprising, judging by the fact he overpowered Steve, if only by so much. 

Steve and Bucky were delighted and slightly worried by a mission delay. They’d lost track of the cartel since Steve’s return home, and due to recent _developments_ amongst the Avengers, they’d need more preparation before they could ship out. Included in prep was to update and repair Bucky’s arm, which had been neglected after the helicarrier crashes. Bucky shivered to think of the person who had to do that. 

That meant there was going to be a few more months until they had to leave. 

After the meeting, the Avengers seemed to huddle around Bucky. They were a bit overbearing, but Bucky figured it was just who they were. Sam stayed near Steve, occasionally casting a glance at Bucky, having already met him. Bucky was glad Steve had met someone that he could be friends with. But he didn’t know what Sam thought about him. 

Wanda stayed near Vision. Both intimidated the hell out of him. Wanda, after no one had said anything, approached Bucky and held out her hand. Bucky shook it firmly, and tried to smile as she did the same. “It is nice to meet you. I’ve heard many things.” 

“Good things, I hope?” Bucky smiled, perching his hand on his hip. He really did hope she didn’t know him from old S.H.I.E.L.D. documents, housing information of all the people he’d supposedly killed. It scared him to think he didn’t know that number either. 

“Of course,” she nodded, a welcoming smile on her own face. She crossed her hands in front of her, her eyes facing Bucky’s. Steve hadn’t told Bucky much about her, other than her abilities. Having her around to watch over Steve made him a little more comfortable. He wondered if she was swimming around in his mind. What would she think of him then? When their introduction had trailed off, Bucky couldn’t find any words. He felt miniscule under the weight of her and Vision’s gazes. He thought they probably knew that, so Wanda just concluded their conversation with a nod and said, “I look forward to working with you.” Vision kept his eye about him. Bucky wondered if both of them were weighing his worth. 

Natasha, Steve, and Sam moseyed towards Bucky. Natasha startled Bucky when she wrapped her arms around him. He teetered for a moment, before settling back with a laugh. Steve, with a smile, ran towards the two and encompassed the both of them in his broad arms, lifting them into the air. 

“Steve!” Bucky and Natasha said, the life practically being squeezed out of them. Sam began to laugh. 

“You’re gonna end up crushing someone’s ribs,” Sam said, patting Steve’s back. Steve, defeated, placed them back on the ground with a sigh. Sam solemnly stepped aside, standing beside Bucky, who looked at him with a twinge of surprise. Sam caught his eyes and said, his head bowed, “I won’t bite.” 

Bucky shook his head, his words quiet, “Oh, no, I didn’t…” 

Sam smiled, “I know. I’m just joking with you. We haven’t had much chance to talk. And last time I saw you, uh…” He cleared his throat, furrowing his eyebrows. The both of them were reminded of their last encounter. Bucky, looking back on it, had regretted what he’d done. He could only wonder what Sam thought of him now. 

Bucky’s face contorted, thinking of that spur-of-the-moment action, and abashedly covered his eyes with a hand. “Oh my god. That’s right. I’m so sorry. I-I really don’t know what I was thinking.” 

“Man, it’s cool. I found it really funny,” Sam said, cracking another smile. “I pretty much knew what was happening. But… Steve actually _answered_ the door?” He looked off at Steve, who was now butting heads with Natasha. He couldn’t tell if they were arguing about the night before or if she was scolding him for picking her up. “Sometimes that old man’s more of an airhead than I take him for.” 

“Tell me about it,” Bucky sighed and shook his head. 

“But anyways,” Sam said, turning to Bucky. “I’ve actually got some news.” 

“Oh?” Bucky raised an eyebrow. 

“Yeah,” he sighed again. He paused, his mouth hung open to speak, but reluctant to go through with it. Finally, he said, “I’ve been ordered to get you up to speed on training.” He crossed his arms. He knew what Bucky was about to say. 

“I don’t need training.” 

“That’s what I told them,” Sam lowered his head, flitting his eyes back up to Bucky. 

Bucky rolled his eyes slightly, not necessarily looking anywhere, and stuffed his arms in his hoodie. He just wanted, someday, for these people to trust him. He knew his own abilities. He didn’t need to be babied or constantly monitored. “I guess if that’s what they want. I don’t have a choice. After all, I want to do this. I shouldn’t complain.” 

Sam nodded silently and looked down. He tried on another smile and said, “You know Pink Floyd?” 

Bucky furrowed his eyes for a moment, looking to Sam with confusion. Sam gestured to his hoodie. Bucky looked down, and with realization, shook his head. “Oh, no. This is Steve’s.” 

Sam’s smile softened. It wasn’t sarcastic, rather, it looked like it was held with a little adoration. He merely uncrossed his arms and said, “You need to start making a list.” 

“A list…” Bucky said, his eyes dropping. Something to keep track of the new world, and to catch up on the years that they had missed. That concept in itself was a bit upsetting. They should have been old men, swaying in their rocking chairs on their front porch. Maybe they would have had some grandchildren to share their stories with. ...Maybe. 

A list to regain the years they’d never get back. Bucky hadn’t thought of that. 

They stayed at headquarters a bit longer. Bucky had to wait in what seemed like an interrogation room and speak with two Avengers officials about his connection to Hydra, and the years before when he’d been in the military. He wondered why he had to repeat himself when they already had his whole life stashed away in a file. Then, it occurred to him that they might be testing his stability. So he played the game. He kept his voice steady, and his eyes firm, but not to frighten. Merely to intimidate. Then, they brashly asked Bucky to remember the lab, and his years of capture. When he said he couldn’t remember much, they exchanged glances. He felt like they didn’t believe him. So, when they asked him what he could remember, he looked down and thought. They pressed the question again. He looked back up, his glare hardened. He was showing frailty. He knew that, and yet he still swallowed the words in his throat. The two officials kept constant contact with his gaze. They asked him again. 

He cleared his throat and spilled selective information. His once secure eyes had fallen to the table. His words, despite his best efforts, rasped and strained. He told them what he remembered of the lab, in the hands of Hydra, who had tortured him, stripped him of his identity, imprisoned him, froze him, and then rounded off the edges of anything he could remember. They minced him into bits and then sculpted something else entirely. They created the perfect pawn. 

And yet Steve had broken the ice that separated them. 

When Bucky was done, he took a momentary glance at the two officials. One of the officer’s eyebrows were drawn close together, and Bucky couldn’t tell if it was because they were disgusted or in disbelief. Either way, it didn’t matter to Bucky. He couldn’t care less about his mental assessment once they’d let him out. Steve, with anxiety written in his frame, met Bucky outside the holding room. He’d been leaning against the wall, his head dropped and his shoulders hunched. When he saw how shaken Bucky seemed, the glare he gave the two officials that came out of the room could have drilled holes into walls. 

They drove home in silence. Steve and Bucky bid their goodbyes to the rest of the Avengers, who again said they were excited that Bucky was joining the team. He wondered if they were telling the truth. When they got home, Bucky silently pulled off his hoodie and dropped it on the living room floor, walking into their bedroom. He stood aimlessly in the middle of the room, staring at the floorboards. All the muscles in his body were tense. 

Steve slowly stepped up behind him and said, “What did they do?” 

“Questioned me,” Bucky shrugged. 

“I know that,” Steve sighed and placed his hands soothingly on Bucky’s arms, tracing his skin and metal gently. He pressed his chest against Bucky’s back and placed his lips on the back of Bucky’s neck. He could feel him relax under his touch. Steve pressed further and wrapped his arms around Bucky's torso, resting his head on his shoulder. Bucky’s defenses dropped as he locked Steve’s arms in with his own. Steve's voice came quiet, and slow. “What did they ask you?” Bucky didn’t answer. He tugged at Steve’s arms slightly and stepped away, turning around to face him. The look he gave Steve made him shiver. It was almost menacing. Ravenous. “Buck?” 

Before he knew it, Bucky had pushed him up against the wall beside their bedroom door. “Buck, what’s wrong?” Bucky had the collar of Steve’s shirt tightly clenched in the fingers of his metal hand, trembling. There was a storm raging in his eyes. There was pleading, fear, and something underlying that Steve couldn’t place. He didn't want to think it was malice. Steve didn’t show that he was afraid. He didn’t try to calm Bucky down. He knew Bucky wouldn't hurt him. Bucky, for a moment, inched closer, his hand tensing up. Steve could feel Bucky’s heartbeat. It was pounding at a frightening speed. It was only then Steve’s eyebrows furrowed, if only because he wanted to know what was going on in Bucky’s head. Bucky’s lips quivered in a frustrated frown as he released Steve. He mumbled a broken apology. 

Steve didn’t say anything. He just held Bucky again. 

They sat in the kitchen in silence afterwards. Steve had heated up the dinner Bucky had made for him and split it with Bucky. Steve wouldn’t stop pestering him until he ate. He convinced Bucky it was to keep a regiment so he could train with Sam. Afterwards, Steve stumbled across something peculiar. Bucky was sitting on the couch, his legs curled up under his chin, on his phone. He peered over from behind the couch and smiled when he saw that he was messaging Natasha. She wasn’t replying, considering she was currently still at work. And yet Bucky continued to pester her. 

_Hey, Nat._

_I’ve been thinking about the mission. I’m not sure if I should be terrified or thrilled. Which one is worse?_

_Hey, Dipshit._

_I know you’re at work and all, but can you answer the damn phone?_

_....._

_I’m turning into you, aren’t I?_

Steve laughed and walked around to the other side of the couch and pulled Bucky’s legs down so he could lay in between them. He laid his head on Bucky’s chest, wrapping his arms around his waist. Bucky hooked his arms around Steve’s neck, still looking at the phone screen pensively. Bucky’s heartbeat had slowed. 

Steve closed his eyes.


	10. Some Things Are Better Forgotten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one was posted a little later than normal! It's still Saturday, so what the hell.  
> I think I died last night.  
> RIP.
> 
> ಠ_ಥ

Bucky couldn’t believe he was doing this. He never thought he’d be standing face to face with Tony Stark. When Bucky had heard his arm was going to be repaired, Tony Stark’s face appeared in his mind, but he hoped it wasn’t going to be true. Steve painted Tony as a snarky man, but deep down, he was compassionate. But that wasn’t what Bucky was worried about. 

He didn’t want to face the son of someone he’d killed. 

Tony happened to see the recent media blowup about Steve and immediately stuck his nose in it. Then he learned that Bucky was going to join the Avengers. Tony had called Nick and repeatedly asked (or demanded) to fix his arm, and even went so far as to contact the personal numbers of the other Avengers scientists. After two weeks of occasional calls and random visits to the headquarters, Bucky didn’t have much choice. He succumbed and gave Fury his permission to invite Tony. 

Bucky currently found himself standing in the Avengers laboratory, frozen in place. Tony was busy fiddling with their equipment, as he’d said as soon as he entered, _“This is absolute trash. Did you pull this tech out of my grandmother’s attic?”_ Tony had originally asked for Bucky to come to his own lab, but Bucky felt like he’d end up at Tony’s mercy, with only Pepper to save him. So they made a compromise—meet at the Avengers laboratory, with the Avengers there to supervise. Of all the people that might have an influence over Tony, neither Pepper nor Rhodey was there. So Bucky was depending on Steve, Sam, Natasha, and Wanda to not let Tony cut him up into bits. 

Tony was so distracted by equipment that it took him a while to even notice Bucky was standing there. Bucky was hoping to steel off the introduction for as long as possible. But to his dismay, Tony happened to turn around and see Bucky for a split second. He merely said, voice loud and demanding, “Are you going to come over here or just stare at me?” Bucky stayed silent as he looked back desperately at Steve, who gave him a reassuring glance. Eventually, he gathered the courage and rewrote the anxious expression on his face to confidence and descended into the lab. He stood awkwardly behind Tony as he neglected to acknowledge Bucky once more. Finally, Tony turned and stood up straight with a smile and a sigh to accompany it. He extended his hand and shook Bucky’s vigorously. “Nice to finally meet the man everyone’s talking about.” 

“And you, Mr. Stark.” 

“Oh, formalities? You are a man of a different time. Don’t get me wrong, it sounds nice, considering people normally call me “jackass.” But I prefer Tony, thanks,” he said, and, before Bucky had time to respond with anything other than a laugh, he turned around and beckoned Bucky into a reclined examination table. It gave him an eerie reminder of hazy years before. Bucky warily sat down and leaned against the back of the chair with a sigh. He was wrong. This one was much more comfortable. “Now, if you’d be so nice as to strip. I promise I’m not looking.” Bucky was taken aback for a moment. Eventually, he complied, and slipped off his jacket and shirt. He felt exposed. But that was the point, wasn’t it? 

Tony continued to bustle about for a bit, quietly mumbling to himself. Bucky drummed his fingers impatiently on the armrest and looked around, finding Steve standing right inside the door. He raised his eyebrows at him, asking him a silent question. Steve laughed to himself and walked into the lab, while Sam, Natasha, and Wanda watched, but stayed behind. Steve stood by Bucky’s chair. Bucky felt just a little less nervous. 

Tony turned around and noticed Steve. He puffed out his chest and said, unfazed, “So, who’s going to be the Best Man?” 

Bucky figured he didn’t ask that question before because he knew Steve a little better. Nevertheless, they were both taken a bit by surprise, before Steve spoke first, “Oh, I… I haven’t decided. I was thinking of asking Sam.” 

“Traitor.” Tony turned to Bucky, dismissing Steve, and asked, “How about you?” 

Bucky took a second, finally realizing he was being spoken to. He looked down for a moment before furrowing his eyebrows. “I don’t know. I figured Romanov could be my Best Man.” Bucky gave a subtle smile, which grew when Tony laughed in reply. 

They talked for a bit more while Tony finalized his adjustments to their lab equipment. He tested one of the tools, a pen-shaped welder, that produced a more controlled line of fire after Tony had tweaked it. Bucky winced slightly, his arms falling into his lap. Steve noticed, and placed a hand on Bucky’s shoulder, who breathed in deeply. Tony turned around, pulling up a stool, and asked Bucky to place his hands on the armrests. He looked Bucky’s left arm up and down, assessing the damage. It really only functioned for day to day activities—if he put any real pressure on it, it might break, or wound Bucky at the connection point where skin met metal. Tony’s eyes drifted across the metal, focusing on the main impairment, until they drifted to his hands. Routinely, he sat back up and readied the welder, and said, “I’ll need you to take off your ring.” 

Bucky glanced at Steve, who held out his hand. Slowly, Bucky raised his arm, and hesitated. Bucky had been getting used to seeing his ring after those few weeks. He didn’t want to take it off. He stared at it for a moment before handing it to Steve, who mouthed, ‘It’s okay.’ Steve gave a small smile and slid the ring on his own finger, right above his own ring. 

Tony turned, and, when he saw Steve looking at his hand giddily, he raised an eyebrow. He looked at Bucky and said, “Is he always like this? Like, I’ve always wondered what the old-timer would act like as a lover, but I never imagined this.” 

Steve looked up and said defensively, “Hey, you shouldn’t be talking.” 

“What has Pepper told you?” Tony looked up, and Bucky could swear there was a hint of fear in his eyes. 

“Nothing you need to hear,” Steve smiled victoriously. 

Tony waved him away. “Go, go sit in time-out.” Steve looked at him, perplexed. Tony waved more forcefully and stood, coaxing him away. “Go! I can’t focus with you standing around, go make yourself useful.” 

Steve casted a worried glance at Bucky, who nodded. “You guys can leave. I think I’ll be all right. I don’t want to hold you up.” 

Steve moved to reply, but was interrupted by Tony once more, who was reinforced by Bucky. Steve finally surrendered and trudged back over to the others. Bucky watched as they all left the laboratory. He tried to ignore the pain stabbing his chest. Tony sat back on the stool with a huff, and steadied himself above Bucky's arm. Bucky tried to keep his arm steady as he removed certain plates that were beyond repair. He figured he could trust Tony. He had constructed biomedical devices before, even on his own body. He just couldn’t help the familiar feelings that it brought him. And those familiar feelings weren’t welcoming. He tried to keep his eyes on Tony, and remind himself where he was, and that he was only trying to help him. 

Tony had practically ransacked the place looking for the correct type of metal, and began cutting precise, thin sheets, enough to replace the entirety of Bucky’s arm. He checked the interior of his arm to check the functions, but they hadn’t been effected much. Bucky was relieved to see things were going well. That was, until, Tony started to get curious. He started taking off plates that were perfectly fine, and picking at the insides of Bucky’s arm. 

Bucky mumbled, “What are you doing?” 

Tony, unperturbed, replied, “Research.” 

“I… I see that. Why?” 

“This is old technology, and yet it’s more advanced than most of the shit around here,” he says, using tongs to pull out a piece of shrapnel that had been lodged inside. Tony then started moving Bucky’s arm, lifting it up, and observing it, until he mumbled, “Ah, there she is…” 

“What?” 

Before Bucky knew it, Tony had unhinged the arm, and taken it off of Bucky’s torso. The metal connected to his chest remained, but Bucky didn’t know he could remove the pieces covering them. Startled, he froze in place, looking with terror to the place his prosthetic was seemingly bound to him. There was just a hole where his shoulder should have been. There was a metal frame reaching inside Bucky’s body, which connected to his arm. Tony, nonchalant about it all, merely turned around, and placed his arm on the counter. Bucky was too shocked to even breathe. Tony left his arm lying on the table as he returned, seeing how the base of the arm connected to Bucky’s tissue, and looked at the various pistons and rings on the inside of Bucky’s shoulder. He felt the distant sensation of his phantom arm. Tony then started to prod around on the inside, which Bucky found even more disturbing. He expected him to get his fix of research and then return his arm. But when Tony returned to his arm, he started practically dissecting it. 

Bucky sat there. He didn’t know for how long. But Tony continued to tear at the arm that was no longer connected to him. Bucky cleared his throat and glanced at the clock. 

Tony said, hunched over the arm, “You’re still here?” 

Bucky crinkled his eyebrows and said, “Because you have…” 

“I’m just going to borrow this.” 

“You can’t just…” Bucky stood up, bracing himself on the chair, as he tried to gain his balance. He felt like he would fall over. “That’s my fucking arm!” 

“I’ll make you a new one,” Tony said, not intimidated by Bucky in the least. “Better than this ancient hunk of metal.” 

“What am I supposed to do?” 

“Go home.” 

Bucky argued with him for a few more minutes. Tony relentlessly kept the arm. Even if Bucky had convinced Tony to give it back, it was in pieces. He wouldn’t be able to do anything with it. Tony didn’t see why it was such a big deal to him—he figured Bucky knew it could be removed. Bucky never really had any memories without his arm, considering he’d been fitted with a new one almost immediately after losing it. Defeated, Bucky tried to keep standing up straight as he slipped his shirt back over his head. He nearly fell over, and had to sit down to put his jacket on. He rolled his left sleeve up so it didn’t dangle there. Then he stood, a bit rickety at first, but made his way out of the laboratory. He didn’t know where Steve had gone. He hadn’t gotten a message. He walked around headquarters, trying to find just one familiar face to help him. 

Bucky found an empty corridor, right outside the lobby. They weren’t there either. He could feel his chest tightening, and, in fear, he entered the room nearest to him and collapsed against the door. He didn’t know where he was. He didn’t care. He slid to the ground, his arm clenching his shoulder tightly. He stared emptily at the space between his legs. He didn’t look up when someone walked up to him. 

“James?” 

He looked up, seeing Wanda crouched in front of him. 'James.' What the hell was Natasha teaching her? 

He didn’t answer. He felt like he was going to snap. Despite wearing this fact on his face, she didn’t show any uncertainty. She swept over him with calm eyes which landed on his right arm, or lack thereof. Silently, she reached and grabbed his left hand, cupping it with both of hers. He felt encompassed in her eyes. He thought she might be peering into his mind. He confirmed that thought when her face scrunched up, with a hint of sadness showing in her eyes. Whatever it was she saw, Bucky didn’t want to know. It seemed no matter, as she kept her hands firm on Bucky’s. She reached a gentle hand up to Bucky’s cheek, sending a rush of comfort through him. He wasn’t sure why, but he felt calm. 

Wanda brought him back into the lobby while Bucky waited for Steve. Though they sat in silence, he felt like he learned more about her than he could’ve otherwise. Maybe it was the split-second that their minds connected. Or maybe it was the kind way she held him in her eyes, and didn’t show any hesitation to do so. 

That was probably it.


	11. Paving the Way

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm just gonna  
> *slowly steps into trashcan*  
> *closes lid*  
> That's better  
> 

When Steve returned to the lobby, he was certainly not expecting what he saw. Bucky and Wanda sat close to one another, exchanging silent glances, all the while Bucky’s left arm was no longer there. Bucky had calmed down by then, so when Steve questioned him about it, he just said Tony was replacing his arm, and that he’d be fine without it until then. Steve looked skeptical, but he gave in when Bucky just pleaded with him to go home. Before they went, Wanda gave Bucky a parting hug, which froze him for a moment. But somehow, she brought comfort with her once again, and he returned her embrace. He didn’t quite understand it. 

On the car ride home, Steve seemed bothered by something. Bucky figured it had something to do with his arm, so he didn’t bring it up. At least, that’s what he thought, until Steve sighed and said, “What do you think about confirming our relationship?” 

Bucky whipped his head around to look at Steve with surprise. He was staring ahead of him, and Bucky couldn’t tell if he was trying to avoid his gaze or not. Bucky just furrowed his brow and closed his mouth, which had been hanging open. “You’re kidding.” 

“Not at all,” Steve said, turning to look at Bucky for just a moment. His eyes bored through Bucky. _He’s serious._

“What… Why?” Bucky sat forward in his seat, turning his body towards him. 

“I don’t want to hide you. Though, it’s a little late for that,” Steve said, a small smile playing at the corner of his lips. 

“But you don’t have to do that,” Bucky reached with his right hand and touched Steve’s knee. He could feel the area that his left arm would be tingling. He was reminded that it wasn't there. By then, he had already forgotten about it. 

“I want to.” 

Bucky decided it was pointless to keep their engagement, or their relationship really, under wraps. Everyone who knew Captain America certainly had heard of his “new-world” partner. What if Bucky had stayed stubborn and refused to go to dinner with Steve? He figured he’d gotten too comfortable from the various occasions that he and Natasha had gone into public. Looking back, Bucky wished he had closed the blinds, wrapped a blanket around his head, and maybe coerced Steve by pulling him into the blanket with him. How would things have gone, then? Maybe they would have made something nice (or ordered takeout), laid around in their pajamas, before Steve proposed anyways. It was out of taste for Steve, but Bucky would have taken that any day over their engagement being exploited. 

In the end, he agreed. It made him nervous as all hell, but at the same time, he was being introduced back into the world as Bucky Barnes. He still found that strange. 

For the next few days, Steve began to hound Tony over the phone about finishing Bucky’s arm. Tony, each time, replied with a swift dismissal and hung up. He eventually gave up when Bucky told him he was perfectly fine. Really, he was. He just had to get used to the idea, and also the way he swayed slightly when he stood. His weight wasn’t even anymore, considering he had gotten used to supporting a metal arm. He finally got the hang of it, he thought. Steve was still vaguely fascinated about the inner works of his arm and the scarring where Bucky’s skin met the base metal. Steve had seen those scars hundreds of times, so Bucky didn’t know why this was such a new experience for him. He supposed they looked perfectly imperfect with his arm on. 

Bucky’s training had to be halted until he got his arm back, which he was sure Fury definitely reprimanded Tony for, which he most definitely talked his way out of. For now, Sam was working through Steve to make sure Bucky was eating and sleeping properly. Out of everything, that’s what Bucky was having the most trouble with. Bucky had thought his sleeping problem had been solved, but soon he was fluctuating between sleeping little to no hours, to sleeping soundly through the entire night. _It was only to be expected._

Until then, he began doing simple exercises with Sam, as well as with a physical therapist, not only to help him while he didn’t have his arm, but to help him slide easily back into a more extreme regimen once he got it back. Bucky started running with him and Steve, which attracted a bit of attention (considering paparazzi were hunting like hawks for anything regarding Steve), but otherwise Bucky found it liberating. As well as entertaining. At one point he and Steve lapped Sam, who was not pleased in the slightest. Maybe more than once, actually. 

Bucky found himself happier than he had been in a while. 

And he still was, as he stood at a podium looking out on an eagerly waiting crowd of news groups. It was baffling to Bucky that Steve could captivate so many people. Why the hell did any of them care? 

Steve really did have them all in awe, with the way he moved and spoke. Bucky could remember when they were in the army, and Steve could band together some of the most hopeless people and strike them with inspiration. And, of all of them, Bucky had been the most hopeless. Yet, even before the "new" Steve, he had always been captivated by his words. He was still that bewitching Steve as he stood at the podium at his side, and while Bucky looked with uncertainty to the cameras, Steve had his chest pushed proudly and looked as confident as ever. And when he spoke, the entire city seemed to fall silent to listen with open ears. 

He kept things simple, explained the history behind Bucky Barnes’s “death,” and said he had recently discovered Bucky was alive. Steve didn’t say anything other than that he’d been frozen as well. The audience shifted with Steve’s words, looking to Bucky with eyes that begged to comfort him. Then, Steve brought up the media coverage of their night out. He confirmed that their alleged engagement was true. At those words, the seemingly numb crowd erupted into questions and hollering. Bucky also heard cheering, or clapping. He couldn’t discern words from the mindless bombardment of voices. Steve, silently, wrapped a gentle arm around Bucky’s waist and pulled him near. Bucky wasn’t expecting the kiss that came next, but the uproar grew in volume. Bucky swore he was going to go blind from all the flashing cameras. He at least tried not to look displeased, so he tried on the same charming smiles that the Bucky in Captain America’s museum wore. He couldn’t tell if it was convincing them. 

They stayed afterwards for questions, which weren’t as intrusive as the ones shouted at them on a sidewalk in the middle of the night. They were more curious about Bucky, how he’d survived, and what his plans were in the future. He was to become an Avenger. That concept in itself was foreign on his tongue. But the press ate it up. 

He and Steve came home worn, but things had gone better than expected. The prowlers with ignorant comments had been washed out by the sheer amount of people that were actually professional. None of them even mentioned Bucky’s arm, which he appreciated. 

Now, it was just a day to relax. He and Steve found themselves doing quite a bit of that. They were in the living room, Steve with a book propped in his hands, while Bucky was texting Natasha. She’d just watched a network that aired the announcement. He had to admit, it was a little bit of a hassle to type with one hand. Bucky had his legs thrown across the couch, lying on Steve’s thighs. His fingers were tracing lightly across Bucky’s calves. His eyes swept over Steve, with such a calm, and yet alluring expression as he read. _It wouldn’t hurt to just…_

“Well, hi,” Steve said as Bucky suddenly straddled him, placing his phone on the coffee table. He found himself laughing as Bucky shrugged, and folded the corner of his page. Without replying, Bucky kissed him, unrestricted. After that day, Bucky felt a need to claim Steve. “What’s gotten into you? I mean, I’m not complaining.” 

“Shut up,” Bucky smiled, occupying his mouth again. He’d have to stop talking, then. Steve eventually followed his movements and held his hips, holding him firmly. Bucky held the back of Steve’s head, pulling him back soon every time they separated. 

All of a sudden, Steve stood, arms wrapped around Bucky’s waist, as he carried him to the nearest wall and promptly pinned him against it. It was forceful enough to knock the air out of Bucky for a moment. _What’s gotten into me, huh?_ He couldn’t get a chance to say anything witty. Steve was using the same strategy to keep him quiet. So he settled for pulling Steve’s shirt over his head, with help from him, considering he was more or less just pulling it up bit by bit with one hand. Steve was kissing him with a fire Bucky wished he had known about before. Normally, Bucky was the one that crashed lips, bit, clawed. It was probably a good thing that Steve’s body didn’t keep marks for long, or he’d be covered in them. 

Steve hooked a hand under one of Bucky’s knees, pulling his leg over his hip, while Bucky raised the other to wrap around him. Bucky hissed into Steve’s mouth, reaching down to slide a hand into his own shorts. Watching Bucky touch himself, Steve couldn’t keep himself from feverishly kissing his neck. Soon, Steve had left marks all over Bucky, which would disappear easily. Steve looked to Bucky pensively, before placing him back on the ground. Bucky, a bit disappointed, thought he knew where this was going, so he was thoroughly surprised when Steve whispered, “Turn around.” 

Bucky stared for a moment, pondering, before he felt heat rise in his cheeks. Steve’s eyes burned with something he’d only seen a few times before—insatiable hunger. Bucky, still a bit flustered, slowly wet his lips as he turned towards the wall, bracing himself against it with his arm. He looked back at Steve with anticipation, before Steve caught his lips again, and snaked one hand around Bucky’s front. It drifted underneath his shorts, while the other hand slid down the back of his shorts, eliciting a shiver from him. His fingers traced lightly across Bucky’s taint. His back arched reflexively into his touch, while Steve gave a breathy laugh into his ear. His other hand had already begun to stroke Bucky’s member, and Bucky found his own hand urging him on. Steve, with a soft kiss to the back of Bucky’s neck, inserted one finger, which Bucky caught a gasp in his throat. 

The energy Steve had before with his lips had traded with his hands; his hands worked vigorously, while he gave kisses of contrast. They were gentle, fleeting. But Bucky didn’t care, bearing in mind the fingers currently in his ass. _Weird. That thought was weird._

Without his arm to support him, Bucky’s face was practically smashed against the wall, neck craned, as he continued to arch into Steve’s touch. It was slightly uncomfortable, but that wasn’t really what his brain was focused on. The sheer mass of Steve pressed against his back made the discomfort of their position a little more bearable. With every thrust of his fingers and pump of his hand, accompanied by Steve slightly dry-humping him, Bucky was quietly uttering moans. 

It didn’t take long before he came. He was a bit embarrassed, but he didn’t have time to think before Steve had turned him around in his haze. Swiftly, while Steve was still feeling animalistic, he wrapped Bucky’s legs back around his hips and carried him into their bedroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAPPY 420
> 
>  
> 
> KILL ME


	12. Reminisce of Times Before

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's only like half an hour until it's Saturday but like  
> I'm impatient  
> Have an early present <3

Steve laid him on the bed, rougher than Bucky expected, and began to dig around in the nightstand. Bucky had regained his composure and propped himself up on his elbow. He peered over the bed, watching Steve with intrigue. He could see that Steve had become hard. He shifted, feeling a bit nervous as Steve climbed over him. He pulled the soiled shorts off of Bucky, throwing them to the floor, leaving Bucky feeling stripped. To compensate, he reached for the button of Steve’s pants, but his hand was quickly redirected. Steve undid his own pants and pulled them just below his hips. Steve gave a small smile that seemed to hide mischief, and silently handed Bucky a bottle of lube, which he’d fished out of the bedside table. 

Bucky stared down at it, trying to shake himself from his haze. _What am I supposed to…?_ When Bucky realized, his eyes widened. 

He glanced at Steve again, who had unwrapped and rolled a condom onto his member. With it standing fully erect, Bucky found himself gawking at it for a moment. He’d seen it _plenty_ of times, but one could learn to appreciate the little things in life. Well, maybe “little” wasn’t the right word to use. Steve caught him staring and gave another smug smile. He sat on his knees, grabbing one of Bucky’s thighs, and spread his legs. Bucky breathed in heavily, watching Steve settle himself in between his legs. Then, he looked to Bucky with watchful eyes. Bucky wet his lips and popped the cap on the bottle, and Steve helped squeeze some lube onto his fingers. _This shit’s cold._

Steve continued to watch him as Bucky’s hand slid in between his thighs. Bucky’s entrance was already relaxed from Steve’s hands, but he still took his time, breaching with one finger at a time. He fidgeted, pushing his fingers deeper to spread the lubricant, and began to pump. He pursed his lips slightly, finding it more uncomfortable than pleasurable, as it had before. It made him want Steve again, to feel that same feeling. Steve, meanwhile, had taken the bottle and was stroking lube across his cock. Bucky was watching him eagerly. Bucky, growing impatient, said ‘fuck it’ and told Steve to hurry up. The same smile crossed Steve’s lips. 

_Oh, fuck._

Steve pressed the head of his member to touch Bucky’s entrance. Bucky moved his hand back up to lay beside his head, grasping the pillow underneath him. Bucky gasped as he felt Steve push the head inside. Bucky tried to relax himself, but ended up tightening around Steve. Steve gave an airy laugh before pulling back out. Bucky gave a whine before Steve unexpectedly grabbed Bucky’s legs and hoisted them over his shoulders. When Steve entered him again, Bucky held the back of his head and pulled him closer. Steve laid against him, laying kisses along his neck and chest. He moved deeper, slowly, until he reached the hilt. Bucky inhaled sharply when Steve began to rock his hips. 

Steve’s fingers bore into Bucky’s thighs as he thrusted. Bucky caught a moan in his lips, humming slightly as he tried to hide it. Of course, as Steve began to pull back, only to pound back into Bucky, he couldn’t keep himself from the groan that left him. Bucky looked through lidded eyes at Steve, who had a determined expression plastered on his face. Sweat beaded on his forehead as he moved inside Bucky. Steve opened his eyes to see Bucky looking up at him. Bucky wondered what expression he was returning, because Steve immediately crashed their lips together, messily finding Bucky’s tongue with his own. Bucky’s hand tangled desperately in Steve’s hair as they tasted one another. 

They were swept away, melting bodies moving in rhythm across each other. They lost track of anything other than the sensations wracking through them. And throughout the night, they stayed. 

Bucky woke up in a cold sweat. He wasn’t expecting the nightmare that had shaken his entire body awake. He’d thought they’d been dispelled from his mind, but he supposed that was wishful thinking. For some reason, his recent dreams had just been fragmented memories. He couldn’t recall if they had even been nightmares. He supposed it was inevitable that they would return. And this nightmare… He tried to put the pieces of his dream together. He saw the bodies of his comrades and loved ones: Wanda, Sam, Steve, and Natasha. He… he could remember the fear forever etched onto their faces, bodies contorted, battered, bloody. And the last thing he could remember was his own hand clutching his switchblade. 

He sat on the edge of their bed. His body stung from the events of the night before, but it would soon pass. He dropped his head in his hand, trying to erase the images staining the back of his eyes. But they wouldn’t leave. His body was moist with sweat, for different reasons, as well as still dirty from he and Steve’s cum. He needed to… 

He stood and walked to the bathroom. His legs were frail, and his back ached, but he ignored it. He took a shower, scrubbing his eyes until he saw stars. For a while, he stared emptily as steaming water fell over him. After thinking incoherently, he washed his body. 

He saw that he hadn’t woken Steve up as he walked back into their bedroom, a towel wrapped around his waist. He looked at his sleeping figure for a moment. Then, soon, Bucky was lacing boots on his feet. He didn’t know what he was doing when he started to get dressed. He just needed to leave. He didn’t know where. 

After his jacket had been pulled on, he looked around their room, finding Steve again. He pulled the chair from Steve’s desk to the side of the bed, watching him sleep. He had scratches down one side of his back, thanks to a certain someone, and those marks were going to disappear soon as well. His eyes drifted to his left hand, where he still wore Bucky’s ring on top of his own. He tried not to stir Steve as he pulled it off of his finger and struggled to put it on the ring finger of his right hand. His eyes fell back to Steve’s face. Bucky smiled softly, seeing the crease in between Steve’s eyebrows. He rubbed it away with his thumb. 

Bucky left the apartment complex and began walking alongside the main street. He didn’t know where his feet were carrying him, but he kept walking nevertheless. He kept his head low and his hood thrown over his head. He rolled up his left sleeve and kept his right hand in his pocket, hiding his ring for no real reason in particular. As he walked, he kept telling himself that if he didn’t want to be seen, then he shouldn’t go out at all. It was easier to go in public just a month ago with Natasha. They were just commuters, and they blended well with the crowd. That was, at least, until he was seen with Captain America. Then people noticed him. But now, it was 3 in the morning, as dark as it could be that night. What damage could there be in taking a walk? 

Maybe things would have gone better if that was all he was doing. 

“A walk,” he told himself, even as he stood outside the doors of Captain America’s museum. It was after closing hours, obviously, so he couldn’t go inside. But he still came, and for what? To stand outside, looking in like a lost puppy? And despite those thoughts, he still stood there. The inside was dark, but he could see posters lit up faintly by the streetlights. There was a special sale going on. After the recent media blowup, the museum had been flooded with visitors looking to solve the riddle of Bucky’s death. Or just curious passersby that got reminded that Captain America existed because of it. 

He looked up at the name of the museum, filling him with a sense of pride that he couldn’t describe. How did Steve feel, he thought, about his monuments, about the memorabilia given to immortalize him? Bucky knew Steve was humble, but he was still human. He had to feel some type of accomplishment. He deserved that much. As Bucky looked in the glass doors, he wondered if they’d changed some things on the inside since their confirmation. He couldn’t go in to check, lest he be swarmed by cameras, so wondering was all he could do. 

He was compelled to go inside and see his old face and name, and such an unfamiliar smile. But he couldn’t, even if it were daylight. He wondered if people looked at him and expected the Bucky from the museum. The chivalrous companion to Steve Rogers, oozing with charm and an inexplicable gentleness that Bucky had lost. Did Bucky still seem that way in the eyes of the public? Or did he strike them with a feeling of eeriness, a feeling of distrust and misery? 

He was reminded of his dream from the night before. He didn’t want to admit it, like it was speaking a silent truth to himself. He knew that he was the one that had killed his friends. And he didn’t feel a thing until he had woken up, disgusted with himself. 

He looked to the pavement and sighed. He didn’t see the use in staying any longer. He’d boil over with the thoughts running through his head. He wanted to get home. He wanted to be with Steve again. Now that he thought of it, he found it ridiculous that he’d left in the first place. What was he even thinking? Filled with a new sense of longing, Bucky turned on his heels and started walking home. His head remained bowed, but he had a lightness in his step that he hadn’t before. 

He hadn’t been walking very long. The streets were practically empty, albeit the occasional passing car. There were some people stalking the sidewalks as he was, heads lowered and hunkered in their jackets. They pretended not to see each other, which they really couldn’t under the low lights of the city. Whenever Bucky crossed paths with someone, neither of them acknowledged the other. They were out there for their own reasons. He wasn’t going to ask questions. 

He noticed lingering shadows stretching across the sidewalk with him, but he didn’t pay them any mind. They seemed to dance with each streetlamp they passed. Soon enough, they disappeared. That was the only time Bucky had looked up, to see a group of people crossing the street to descend into a bar. Bucky dropped his gaze again and continued walking. He passed an alleyway, separating a complex from a restaurant. He glanced inside for a moment with a small smile, broken memories flying into his head as he imagined tiny Steve throwing fisticuffs with someone a head taller than him. But then, he unintentionally caught the eye of someone standing in the alleyway. They were alone, and mostly a silhouette. Under the moonlight, Bucky could see the glint of their eyes as they raised their head to meet Bucky’s stare. Quickly, Bucky dropped his head and moved to round the street corner. 

Bucky tried to convince himself that he couldn’t hear heavy footsteps behind him. They weren’t quick, quite a distance away, but they were led with intent. Bucky saw another shadow reach across the cement in the corner of his eye. This shadow was closer, meeting Bucky’s feet on the pavement. The amber light weakly shining from the streetlamps was cut by this figure. Bucky still didn’t pay this shadow any mind, even as it got closer. He just continued walking, perhaps a bit faster than before. He told himself to keep looking, keep walking, and he’d be fine. 

_This is ridiculous. Why am I getting so scared?_

He kept telling himself there was no reason to be afraid as this figure grabbed him from behind and pressed a knife to his neck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 13 DAYS UNTIL CIVIL WAR  
> !!!!!!
> 
> the entire basis of this fanfiction's gonna be destroyed isn't it  
> well i mean
> 
>  
> 
> _it's fanfiction_


	13. Blood Against Snow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooooo
> 
> Don't kill me kthx

The figure dragged him behind the corner, tugging him into an alleyway. Bucky didn’t panic, though he felt adrenaline pulse through him. He didn’t make any noise. 

The figure whispered in his ear, malicious and threatening, “That’s right. Don’t talk and you live.” 

In truth, Bucky hadn’t screamed because he had begun to run through his head all the ways he could escape. Their hold pinned Bucky’s right arm to his side. _They’ll slit my throat by the time I wrestle my arm out._ Bucky’s head was tilted against their shoulder, the broad side of the knife pressed heavily against his neck. _I can’t lean forward—head-butting them is out of the question._ He considered using his legs, but as they were still dragging him further into the alley, he was tripping over his own feet. 

They stopped under the fire escape connected to the building separated by the alleyway, concealed behind a dumpster. As Bucky was still carefully planning how to walk away safely, the stranger turned him, grabbed him by his collar, and shoved him against the brick wall. Bucky was winded for a moment, but looked to the figure flatly. Even as the assailant pressed the knife back to Bucky’s neck (the sharp side this time), Bucky felt relief surge through him. _You’ve just made a mistake._

Bucky caught the figure’s eyes. He memorized every feature on their face, every curve, every blemish. Information he would need when he reported the bastard. He tried to fight the smile that flashed across his lips. 

The figure’s eyebrows furrowed. “What the hell’s with you?” They quickly shook their head and pressed the knife harder to Bucky’s neck. “Give me what you have on you.” 

“I don’t have anything. I was just taking a 3 A.M. stroll.” 

“Bullshit,” they spat. “You have a reason to be out here. What is it? Are you selling something? Give it to me.” 

Bucky pulled his hand out of his pocket, turning it inside out and wiggling his fingers. They gulped at Bucky’s demeanor and flared their nostrils angrily. They took the knife from his neck and gestured to his hand with it. 

“Give me your ring.” 

Bucky shot them a glare, his smile falling almost immediately. 

“Sorry to break you some bad news, but that’s staying.” Bucky’s strange confidence had transitioned into something more ominous. It was a feeling that ate at the back of his mind which he wanted to fight, but wasn’t sure how. 

They gripped the knife tighter, pointing it at his face. “I don’t give a shit.” Bucky saw frustration flare in their eyes. Bucky silently continued to stare, unmoved. They fidgeted uncomfortably, tugging at Bucky’s collar. He figured they were becoming afraid of how calm Bucky was. Bucky had done enough teasing. They twisted the knife in their hands. The blade glinted under the soft moonlight, reflecting in Bucky’s eyes. 

Bucky thought he snapped when their arm withdrew, raising the knife to come back down and plunge into Bucky’s chest. Immediately, any rational thoughts flew from his mind. It didn’t breach far into Bucky’s skin before his right arm shot out, knocking their hand away from the knife. They were caught off guard, being thrown slightly from the momentum of Bucky’s forceful shove. They stood a few paces away and looked back up towards Bucky. 

He could definitely see fear in their eyes. 

He couldn’t remember when he’d ended up pinning them on the alley floor. He couldn’t remember when he’d pulled the knife from his chest, splaying blood on his shirt. He couldn’t remember when the knife in place had ended up in the chest of the stranger. He couldn’t remember the other… three… six… times that he had stabbed them. But it was certainly Bucky, straddling the mugger, holding the knife currently in their chest. 

Their eyes stared emptily up at him. Bucky couldn’t remember if they’d screamed or not. If they did, he couldn’t remember if he cared. 

Once he realized what he’d done, Bucky’s hand trembled violently, frantically darting across their skin. 

“No, no, no, no,” Bucky mumbled, repeating this word over and over as his hand trailed blood across their chest, sticking to his own skin. “No, you can’t, you can’t, no, I didn’t,” he said, louder than before. There had to be something, they couldn’t be dead. Bucky couldn’t have killed them. Everything seemed to fall apart around Bucky as he sat there, spreading their blood over them and himself. Though he tried to coax them awake, the life had been drained from their face. 

He didn’t have his phone. Even if he did call an ambulance, they were already dead. So he stood from the body, looking down at the destruction he’d wrought. The wounds were clean, barely visible from far away. Bucky, panicking, accidentally spread blood on his forehead as he pressed his palm against his temple. 

_I’ve ruined everything._

He couldn’t go home to Steve. He couldn’t report this to the Avengers. He worked so hard to get them to trust him, and his actions would immediately erase that trust. 

He tried to calm his shaking as he bent over the body, closing their eyelids. He took the knife out of their chest, wiping the blood on his pants and pocketing it. The body would be found easily the next morning. Bucky needed to leave, and soon. But how, without being seen? He looked around. The streets were dark, but there were obviously still people around. And Bucky could be identified by his missing arm. He remembered the fire escape. Swiftly, he reached for the ladder and pulled himself onto the grate. He climbed steps, his heart beating out of his chest. He couldn’t stop to breathe. He just had to get away from the crime scene, and then he could return to the streets. 

But… where would he go? 

He walked silently along the rooftops of the downtown area like a shadow. He sat for a moment, still skirting rooftops, about four blocks away from the alleyway, to assess the situation he was currently in. There was a stab wound right below his collarbone. He was covered in blood. Not just his own. He only had one arm, nowhere to go, and no clean clothes. He apologized to Steve in his mind. He had just ruined their future, their marriage, his career. He had just killed someone. 

He had just killed someone. 

He laid against the cement and stared at his hand, smudged with crimson. He couldn’t feel his wound. He couldn’t feel much of anything, even as he stared at the hand that had dealt someone’s last breath. His panic seemed to melt away into a bewildering numbness. That was what scared him most. 

He stood and kept walking. It wouldn’t do well to be found sleeping on a rooftop smothered in blood, while someone was dead across town. Not to mention he still had the murder weapon stashed in his pocket. 

How was it that he found himself on Natasha’s doorstep? 

He rapped on her door, growing rigid. He stared at the door sternly and waited. He knew she’d likely be asleep, but he didn’t know what else to do. He couldn’t face Steve. He couldn’t. After knocking, he looked cautiously around the stairs of her apartments. He wasn’t aiming to wake anyone else up instead. It was still dark out, so he was at least somewhat concealed by the night. He grew restless after a few minutes of waiting and knocked on the door again. If need be, he could always climb in the window… 

_Click._

The door opened abruptly, revealing Natasha as she rubbed her eyes heavily. She mumbled, “Do you know what fucking time it is?” 

She hadn’t turned on the light. She squinted at Bucky in the dark, who answered with an empty hum. He could hear her sigh as she reached for the switch that lit the outside of her door. _Please, don’t look at me. Just let me in…_

She and Bucky both jumped when she turned on the light. “ _James!_ " she yelled, before lowering her voice to a hushed whisper, "What the hell? What happened?” 

Bucky moved to step inside, not replying, as she let him in and closed the door behind him. Heedful, she approached him and placed a hand on his cheek, tracing the dried blood on his face. He swatted her hand away and said, guttural and aggressive, “Don’t fucking touch me!” 

Natasha reared back, her eyes growing wide. But she stood her ground and kept her concerned eyes firm on Bucky. Catching her gaze, Bucky’s lips quivered as he brought his hand up to grasp his head in despair. He fell against the wall and slid to the floor, seemingly curling in on himself. Natasha stood for a moment, hesitating, before dropping to her knees beside him and wrapping her arms around him. 

She didn’t ask what had happened. She knew. But Bucky seemed to be giving her a final warning as he muttered, “I killed someone.” Over and over. Tears poured from his eyes, as his breathing remained erratic. 

She merely kept nodding, and whispering, _I know. / It’s okay. / It’s over._

Bucky could only think of how it would be resolved. This person wasn’t an enemy of war—they were a random citizen, who’d committed the wrong crime to the wrong person. Bucky couldn’t call stabbing them repeatedly self-defense. He didn’t know if anyone would believe him anyways. If someone found out he’d killed that person, would someone dig up the many other people he had assassinated? The countless soldiers that had fallen at his hands? The fact that at one point, Steve Rogers himself had been at the end of his barrel? 

The reality of the situation seemed to fall on him. He had fooled himself. He thought he could start over, rebuild his life from the ground up and by some miracle climb out of the hole he’d fallen into. Did he really think he was going to get married to the love of his life? Did he really think he’d made friendships with people out of his own time? Did he really think he was going to fight against the forces that had spent 70 years molding him into an obedient killer? 

No matter what he thought, he’d always be that person. 

Natasha gave him some of her sleep clothes (which were mostly t-shirts and shorts, so they fit better than he’d have thought) and let him shower. Bucky watched the familiar sight of blood swirl down the drain. She helped him clean and bandage his wound. 

Bucky laid down on her couch wearily. She lent him a pillow and a blanket. And she went back into her room, not asking any questions. After what had happened that night, the fact Natasha even let him into her house filled him with such delight, yet sorrow, that he barely slept. He was afraid. Afraid of himself. Afraid of hurting Natasha. Afraid of confronting Steve. 

He watched the sun rise through the window, and he was sure Natasha wasn’t sleeping either in the next room over.


	14. It's Hard to Say Goodbye

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> UGHHHHH  
> I literally tried to post the chapter and the page crashed  
> Let's try this again
> 
> Anyways, thank you to everyone that has stuck through this shit ❤
> 
> But all thanks aside  
> Time to throw myself in the traaaaaaash

Natasha shook him softly awake. Bucky jolted slightly, not having gotten an hour of sleep. He sat up, his mind twisting with confusion, until he remembered what was happening, why he was currently in Natasha's apartment. He leaned against the back of her couch with a heavy sigh. It felt like a ton of bricks were balancing on his shoulders. His mind flashed with images from the night before as he stared at his hand, which was stained pink with blood. Natasha sat in the seat across from him. She watched him with an intensity that froze him in place. 

“What happened last night?” Natasha pressed, leaning forward, lacing her fingers together. Bucky looked to the floor. He opened his mouth to answer, but no words left him. “James, I want to help you. But you have to tell me what you did. Please.” 

He shook his head. “You know what happened. I killed someone.” 

“That’s not what I’m asking. I want to know why.” 

Bucky looked back to the ground. He took a shuddering breath in and recalled the event. “I went out late. Don’t ask why. But this person started following me, and then they… Before I knew what was happening they’d grabbed me and pressed a knife to my neck.” Bucky stood, looking for his clothes, which were stained with blood. He pulled the knife out of his pocket and glared at it. Natasha watched him, alert. “I was thinking of how to escape without getting hurt, but they…” He cast a glance at Natasha and quickly returned it, placing his hand over his wound, along with the knife. 

Natasha stood and walked to him. She placed her hand gently on his, and, slowly, pulled the knife from his hand and placed it on the table that his clothes were piled on. “You were defending yourself.” 

“You can hardly call it that,” Bucky shook his head. “I was deflecting their arm one second, and the next they were already dead. Everything happened so fast. The reason that I’m so scared is that I didn’t hesitate before pulling the knife from my chest and plunging it into their’s. It was like… Nat, I feel like I’ve been bending. And I just broke.” 

Natasha dropped her eyes solemnly. She didn’t know how to answer. Bucky wasn't sure if he should be relieved when the silence was interrupted by her phone vibrating on the coffee table. Both of their heads whipped in its direction, nerves spiking through them. She looked back up to Bucky before walking towards it. She looked at the contact name as she picked it up, and Bucky could see her eyebrows draw together. His fears were confirmed when she answered and pressed the phone to her ear. 

“Hey, old man.” Though Natasha’s voice was light, her face was sullen. 

There was a bout of silence in which Natasha caught Bucky’s eyes. He looked to her, sporting a pathetic expression, pleading with her. She kept her eyes hard on him. _Please. Don’t tell him._

“…No, I haven’t seen him,” she said, her voice hinting at concern, even though she was staring right at Bucky. He was swarmed with relief, though it was immediately replaced with guilt. He covered his eyes with his hand. He didn’t want to do this to Steve. But he didn’t know what other choice he had. How could he go back home to him? How could he crawl into their bed after what he’d done? 

“What, did you lose him?” she huffed an empty laugh and sat back down on her chair. Bucky followed her and sat across from her, sitting forward eagerly. “Well, did he say he was going anywhere? You could be going senile.” Bucky could vaguely hear Steve’s panicked voice on the other end, but he couldn’t make out any words. “If you have his phone, see if he wrote anything down. Did you check if he left a note somewhere?” He could clearly hear Steve shout, _Yes!_

“Jeez, you don’t have to yell at me. I’m sure… I’m sure he’s fine,” Natasha said, her eyes darting back to Bucky for a second. “…What? No, I don’t know where he is,” she paused, “Steve, I’m serious. I don’t know.” Bucky winced, hearing the distress in Steve’s voice. He clenched his eyes shut and dropped his head. 

“You should trust him.” 

When Natasha uttered these words, Bucky looked back up in surprise. He wondered if Steve had his same insecurities, the same worries about Bucky. It was evident in his voice. He hated what he had done—what he was currently doing. But in the end, his murder would outweigh anything Steve had felt. Bucky had shattered the faith that Steve had in him. It was true that Bucky didn’t have a reason to live without him. But the same wasn’t true for Steve. He had something to live for—he could wake up in the morning and feel like he was worth something. Bucky couldn’t. 

He could hear Steve give an airy sigh. He said something else, more morose than frantic, as it was before. And then Natasha ended the call with a “I’ll meet you there.” 

Bucky dropped his head again. Natasha set her phone on the table and sat on the couch beside him, wrapping her arms around him. After a while, he caved in and wrapped his arm tightly around her. He wasn’t sure when they’d reached this physical milestone, but it was like a silent agreement between the both of them not to talk about it. He gave a small laugh as he thought, _Did it take a murder for you to hug me?_ He immediately silenced his laugh and thought, _That wasn’t funny._

She pulled away and took a deep breath in, as if she’d been struggling to breathe. Bucky understood that feeling. She placed her hands firm on Bucky’s shoulders, to keep him secure. Natasha exhaled, “What are we going to do?” 

Bucky gave a smile, which he forced. Natasha knew this. “I hadn’t thought that far ahead.” 

“Even if you go ‘missing,’ I still have to go overseas. Steve, too.” 

Bucky nodded silently. “I know.” 

Even if Bucky wasn’t there, Steve would have to leave. After everything they fought for, after all the countless nights that Bucky spent alone, they finally had the chance to be with each other. To have each other’s backs. To have some sort of reassurance that the other was okay. That was all he wanted. And he ruined it in the blink of an eye. Now, Steve would have to go without him. Despite everything they did, he couldn’t protect Steve in the end. 

“You know you’re eventually going to be found if you stay here. You just revealed yourself to the world. It won’t be easy to go back into hiding.” 

“I know,” he repeated. 

“I’m sorry things had to be this way. I wish I could help you. I wish I could stay. I wish _you_ could stay _here_. I really do. But I can’t, you can’t,” Natasha said, sounding a bit like an overly-concerned mother. “James, I’m sorry.” 

“No. I understand. I don’t want you to have to worry about me. I’ll be fine,” Bucky thought, not really sure if he was telling the truth. Natasha knew this as well. Without letting her retort, Bucky stood. “I just need a few days to figure out a plan. Y’know, however long it takes for you guys to ship out. And then… and then I’ll be out of your hair.” 

She looked at Bucky with eyes that stabbed him like daggers. They weren’t menacing. They were upset. The both of them knew that ‘out of your hair’ probably meant that they would never see each other again, once Bucky had left. Natasha wanted to prevent that, and Bucky knew. But he had already done enough. He couldn’t chance dragging the two people in the world that he loved (and that loved him back) into it. He never wanted that for them. 

Natasha stood. “Steve wants to meet me in town to look for you. If you… If you need to go back, now’s your opportunity.” 

Bucky nodded again. 

That was how Bucky found himself staring at their bed. He wanted to crawl in and envelop himself in the comforter, breathing in Steve’s cologne on his pillow, or the warmth he had left from the night before. He traced his fingernails along the nightstand, ghosting over his phone. He giggled to himself when he saw that Steve had called it, before realizing that it was on the other side of the bed. He debated whether or not he should pocket it, but decided against it. Natasha said she would send him a text (which he would delete) when Steve was going back home. Bucky didn’t think he was going to take that long. He lied. 

He packed a duffel bag of clothes. But after that, he found himself aimlessly walking around their apartment. He took in his new life—the way Steve always opened their windows in the morning, letting the curtains flutter softly against the windowsill, how the couch cushions were pressed vaguely with the frame of their figures, or how their bedroom was a mess. Blankets were disregarded and often fought over, their clothes from the night before were still carelessly tossed on the floor, and their sheets probably needed to be washed. He left their room and padded into the kitchen. 

Then Bucky had a thought. He’d been thinking of this apartment, this room, this bed, as “their’s.” But now, it was just Steve’s. Back to the way it had been a month before, when Bucky was alone, anxious, and waiting for Steve to come back home. He hadn’t considered this his home, then. What changed? 

It was probably for the best that now, it was just "Steve's." 

Bucky searched around for a slip of paper, and ended up grabbing one of Steve’s charcoal pencils. He sat down at the dining room table and leaned over the paper. He stared at the pencil in his hand, thinking of everything he wanted to write but couldn’t. It didn’t help that he had to use his shoulder to still the paper. Finally, he began to write, and soon, his words were carried away. He described his actions, why he needed to leave, and that he wouldn’t be back. He apologized for his brashness, for the illusion that he’d made, and that he had to involve Steve in all of it. He wished that things could’ve been different. He wished that _he_ could’ve been different. He wished that they could’ve lived the lives they wanted. And Bucky wanted that for him—the last thing he told Steve was that he wanted him to get married. Who knows, maybe have a few kids. 

Bucky tried to keep his tears from falling on the letter. 

He looked back at the letter he’d written and skimmed his eyes over it countless times, his heart skipping. It would be easier to just leave nothing, to vanish without a trace. It’d be the best for Steve to think that, maybe, Bucky got mauled by a bear, or just decided one day that he didn’t want to get married, or he snapped. That way Steve wouldn’t have to worry about chasing after him, and would move on, after however long that might take. He had once before, why couldn’t he do it again? In the end, Bucky ripped the letter to pieces with his hand and between his teeth. He threw it in the trashcan, watching the words twist in the air as they fell in a jumbled mess of letters. He got a new slip of paper and sat back at the kitchen table, pencil in hand. 

When Bucky walked back into Steve’s bedroom, he saw that his phone was lit with a notification. He didn’t move the phone as he opened it. 

_Steve’s heading home._

Bucky deleted the message. He took one, encompassing glance at Steve’s bedroom. One, final look. 

Long after Bucky had climbed out of the window and headed back to Natasha’s apartment, Steve unlocked his front door and stepped inside. The sun had already left its last kiss on their part of the world. Steve’s steps were heavy, filled with the worry that showed in his shoulders, which were hunched by the weight of concern. He looked around. Something had changed. As if in a frenzy, he looked around the apartment and burst into his bedroom, searching without finding. Filled with a new sense of disappointment, he went back into the living room and held his head in his hands as he crashed onto the couch. That’s when he noticed it—later, he would realize, Bucky had left the kitchen light on. He shot up from his seat on the couch and ran into the kitchen. There was a note sitting on the dining room table, beside a glimmering ring, gathering attention from the light left overhead. Still tears sat on the wood beside the letter, slowly drying. Steve quickly picked up the note, as well as the ring, and read it. 

_I love you. I’m sorry._

Steve’s eyes froze to those few words, written messily, somehow holding more meaning than he could gather. Steve fell into a dining chair, clutching the note, and let himself cry.


	15. The Daunting Hollow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm getting my wisdom teeth taken out today  
> *puts on helmet*  
> Wish me luck

Bucky woke up with a weight on his ribs. It wasn’t just the normal tightening of his chest—he noticed that there were claws kneading near his throat. Bucky opened his eyes, met by a black mass. Bucky smiled at Natasha’s cat and breathed in, watching her rise on his chest. She stopped kneading and opened her large, golden eyes. 

“Hi, Liho,” Bucky whispered and scratched the bridge of her nose. She closed her eyes, content, and began to knead again. “What’ve you been up to?” Bucky mumbled as he tilted his head. Natasha didn’t like to say she owned Liho, though it was obvious that she kept her around because she cared. Liho was often in and out of the apartment, disappearing occasionally, but she’d always come home to Natasha. He’d only seen Liho a few times before, considering he never really met Natasha at her apartment. He supposed she preferred her privacy, which he was currently imposing on. 

He wanted a pet. A cat would be nice, but it was apparent that Steve was a dog person. Bucky wouldn’t mind what they ended up getting, really. Just companion to occupy Bucky would be enough. Would Steve want a small dog? Bucky snickered as he sat up, cradling Liho, thinking about Captain America coming home to a Pomeranian, wagging its backside furiously because it didn’t have enough tail to go around. 

Bucky’s face settled in frustration when he realized what he was thinking. 

_Did you already forget what you’ve done? Go, fantasize about your life with Steve. I can’t fucking believe you._ He sighed and held Liho a little tighter. 

Natasha was pleasantly surprised that Bucky had cooked breakfast for her when she’d woken up. As she ate, Bucky sat with his hand propping against his chin, sitting across from her in the living room. When she turned on the TV, Bucky immediately switched the channel to the news. Two newscasters had just covered the story of the body of an individual found in an alleyway behind _Deux’s_ , while the identity of the victim and the culprit were currently unknown. The two were discussing the issue, and Bucky watched them with terrified eyes. 

_“…the police department has released a statement on the murder, and says it’s ‘likely a robbery, or part of a turf war-’”_

_“But those wounds were too methodical. The arteries and valves around the heart were all cut.”_

Bucky dropped his head at their words, thinking of how simple it was for him to snuff out a life. It had slowly begun to consume him the past few days he’d been staying with Natasha. He could only imagine what he was capable of, and what more would it take for him to randomly lash out and harm Natasha. And the guilt of leaving Steve was only thriving in this storm. As Bucky battled with himself, Natasha was watching him warily. Anger also vaguely lined her dilated pupils. She sighed heavily and put down her plate, pushing it towards Bucky. 

“Cut this shit out. Eat,” she said forcefully, crossing her legs. Bucky’s head rose quickly to meet Natasha’s impossibly demanding gaze. 

“Oh, it’s okay… I’m not hungry,” he mumbled, almost afraid to divert his eyes. 

“I don’t care if you’re hungry or not. You haven’t eaten since you got here.” 

Bucky’s eyes were still frozen to hers. He shrugged and repeated himself, somehow less confident than before. “I’m not hungry…” 

She rolled her eyes and leaned forward. Bucky withdrew, slightly afraid of her fiery glare. He raised his hand defensively and grabbed her fork, staring down at the omelet she’d half-eaten. Bucky hadn’t eaten in days. He couldn’t think straight enough to force himself to. His stomach seemed to carve into his body, leaving him feeling hollow. Though, he’d felt that way for many reasons. The smell of food was so overpowering it nearly made him retch. _I’m going to vomit._

The crease between Natasha’s eyebrows softened as she watched Bucky. She thought about what she had been doing and cleared her throat, drawing Bucky’s attention away from the plate. She didn’t meet his eyes as she wet her lips, leaving her mouth hanging open to mutter an apology that didn’t come. She grabbed the plate, stood, and walked into the kitchen, leaving Bucky feeling like he’d disappointed her. But, as Bucky hanged his head in defeat, she emerged carrying a glass of water and a granola bar. She placed the glass on the coffee table and unwrapped the bar, passing it to him. He mumbled “Thanks,” followed by, “I could’ve done that myself…” 

Natasha only uttered, “I know,” before falling back into her chair. “I don’t know. I’m sorry. I’m just… I don’t want you having this sick idea that you need to punish yourself. If that’s what I thought you deserved, I would have never let you into my house. If I thought you were hopeless, this ruthless killer, I wouldn’t have let you be with Steve.” She paused and gave a small laugh, though she didn’t look like she was very happy. “Not like my input would have meant much.” 

She and Bucky both lost eye contact with one another as they dropped their gazes to the floor. 

She cleared her throat. “I think it’s because all of us have done things we’re not proud of. I… If anything, I’m the one here that got left off easy. We were manipulated. We knew what we were doing, but… was it what we wanted?” she shook her head, her voice strained. “Bruce…” she whispered with a small smile, which quickly faded into something more miserable. “People were fucking terrified of something he couldn’t control. Maybe that’s why… They knew Bruce would never want to hurt them, so they were afraid of what would happen when he wasn’t Bruce anymore. But they can’t tell him anything he hasn’t already told himself.” 

Bucky looked back up. He had never met Bruce, but he was already sounding a lot like himself. “Nat…” he beckoned, and she moved to the spot on the couch beside Bucky. She didn’t look at him as she continued to speak. 

“The things I’ve done. The things Bruce, Tony, and Clint have done. If we weren’t condemned for demolished cities, countless innocent people murdered, why should you be any different?” she shook her head again, not giving Bucky time to reply. He didn’t know if he knew what to say in the first place. “What the fuck makes them think you wanted those things? Is it because of their vendetta against Hydra, so to them you’re just another weapon, foaming at the mouth as you obediently slaughter anyone in your way?” Her voice began to rise. Even though Bucky knew she was trying to defend him, he couldn’t help but feel a little scared that she was blaming him as well. 

“At first, I didn’t want you near me. I thought you were dangerous. But I trusted Steve, and so I had to trust you. And I realized just how hypocritical that was. What right did I have to hate you if you’re just like me?” 

Bucky quickly shook his head and held her cheek in his hand. “No, Nat. You’re nothing like me.” 

She ignored him. “Now that I know you, you’re one of the only people in this world I can trust. You’re not the man everyone thinks you are. You’re not the man _you_ think you are.” She hesitated before continuing in a smaller voice, so weak that Bucky felt the urge to hold her. “Do… you remember me?" 

Bucky’s eyebrows furrowed. He muttered, “What do you mean?” 

Natasha didn’t say anything as she reached for the hem of her shirt. Bucky leaned back, dropping his hand, as he wasn’t exactly sure what was happening. That was, until, she lifted one side of her shirt to reveal a pale scar. Bucky stared at it with the same rigid expression. He mumbled, uncertain, “Did I do this?” 

Natasha paused, looking up to him, before nodding softly. “But I know this isn’t who you are. This isn’t what you want. It never was.” She grabbed his hand and slowly placed it on her side, over the scar. Bucky felt the familiarity of when he’d touched Steve’s skin, but somehow, their scars were nothing alike. He swam through memories, trying desperately to place what he’d done to Natasha, but he couldn’t find anything. He could never think of hurting her, but as he felt the rising of her skin under his fingers, he confirmed his thoughts that it was inevitable. He was a hindrance. A danger to everyone he cared about. No matter what Natasha told him. He hated to think that even after he got his memories back, he’d nearly harmed Steve on multiple occasions. Who was to say that his past wouldn’t come back to haunt Natasha as well? 

It was really the best for him to disappear. 

Bucky had been with Natasha for a few weeks when Bucky had heard the news of their mission. Steve was unrelenting in searching for Bucky. Sometimes he even came by Natasha’s apartment, leaving Bucky to wait on the roof of her apartment complex with all of his belongings. It wouldn’t do well for Steve to find his clothes lying around Natasha’s apartment. His heart ached when he thought that Steve was just a few floors below him and had no idea. Bucky didn’t know if he was terrified of being found, or if he hurt with longing to see Steve. But he couldn’t bring himself to face him, no matter how much he wanted to. He could only think of himself as a coward. 

After those first few weeks had passed, Natasha was called to attend a meeting, which was probably centered around Bucky’s disappearance. She said she didn’t know how long she would be, but she would try to be home quickly. Bucky could tell she was afraid of leaving him alone. Bucky thought he might be afraid of being alone, too. He mostly loitered around her apartment, trying to do anything to distract himself from his thoughts. The silence was dangerous. He couldn’t risk staying still for long, or he’d be consumed by his own mind. 

He wondered if Steve was going to call for a postponement of the mission so that he could stay to look for Bucky. Probably not. After all, even if Steve had asked to stall the mission, he’d be outright refused. Steve had saved the world countless times without Bucky, even after he knew he was alive. Why would he throw away his duty this time? Why did Bucky keep thinking he was anything compared to the countless lives Steve had saved? 

He wondered if the Avengers had already connected him to the murder. He wondered if they’d tracked down the cartel, and were going to ship out soon. What would happen to Bucky, then? He knew he was going to have to leave eventually. He wasn’t sure what he was going to do. He knew where he was supposed to go, but had no idea to get there. How do you reach nowhere? 

Bucky found a gun in Natasha’s nightstand drawer. It wasn’t a surprise, considering the both of them were similar in the way that they were paranoid as hell. It was a small automatic pistol. He didn’t know why he’d been looking around in her drawers, or why he’d kept eye contact with the glock for longer than he intended. He just silently closed the drawer and left her room. 

He didn’t want to think about the fact that he brought the gun with him, considering it took him a while to realize it was in his hand. 

_Okay, breathe. Now think. When did you get here?_

Bucky looked around. He was currently on the roof of Natasha’s apartment complex, looking across the city. He sat against the metal railing separating him from the street below. He was curled in on himself, clutching the gun in his hand, which was laid against his chest. His head was pounding alongside his heart. He was telling himself he didn’t know why he was there. But it was clear in his mind, despite what he told himself. He could remember his feet practically carrying him up many sets of stairs, watching his feet move with an emptiness he could barely describe. 

_What am I going to do?_

It was all hopeless. He didn’t want to have to deal with losing himself all over again, living in perpetual fear. What was the point? Why did he think that in any of this he could have a happy ending? He was fooling himself. He had already spent too much time burdening Natasha, stalling his own departure for reasons he didn’t understand. Did he think that, somehow, after the dust had settled, he could return to Steve? That he was staving off losing the people he loved? It was impossible, and he knew that. So he just told himself he’d keep running, but he just needed time. 

Time. 

He knew now that time didn’t matter. In the end, it would all be gone. No matter how long he pretended that he could hold on to something, to someone. Steve. Natasha. Everyone. He’d lose them all in the end. So why was he still here? 

He looked at the gun and stood. His hand slacked against his side. For a moment he swayed, forgetting in his numbness to keep his balance regarding his single arm, along with the weight provided with the pistol in his hand. He knew what he was there to do. But he kept telling himself that he didn’t. 

He turned and leaned against the railing out-looking the city. His eyes stretched across the buildings that towered beside the apartment complex. Even if the skyscrapers beside them were lowered, he wouldn’t be able to see their— _Steve’s_ home. Just one last time, he’d like to see it. But that wasn’t possible. With what he planned to do, he’d never want to leave once he’d engulfed himself in the delusion of his happy life. If he could just cling to that thought, that future… 

_No. You’ll only end up hurting them._

He closed his eyes and breathed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I might be out of commission for a few days, but I'll most definitely try to post as per usual!  
> If I miss Saturday, I may even post two chapters next Wednesday  
> But hopefully it won't come to that. Idk. It depends how well I'm doing Friday. I apologize beforehand if I can't post Saturday!


	16. When Things Change

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks a lot, [Seb](http://steverogersnotebook.tumblr.com/post/143057896270/buckys-relationship-with-steve-may-be-the-only).  
> We love you, too.  
> (jkjk we do really)
> 
>  **Warning for suicidal thoughts/actions, please be careful.** Thank you.

Natasha found him on the roof. At first, Bucky didn’t notice her, with credence to her exceptional stealth. But when the metal door of the apartment complex closed with an aging creak, Bucky whipped around with the gun in hand, and pointed it towards her. She didn’t startle, but rather, stood her ground just as confidently as the stare that shook Bucky. Once he’d gotten over his start, and realized where his weapon was aimed, he immediately removed Natasha from his line of fire and lowered the gun. 

“James. -Bucky. What are you doing?” she said as she raised her hands pensively, though her eyes were not as gentle. She took a step forward. 

“Don’t,” Bucky said, leaving the gun hovering in the space between them. He was careful not to put Natasha in the crossfire. 

She stood across the roof from him, but was close enough that he could hear her soft voice. “Put the gun down.” 

Bucky took a flared breath in, trying not to listen. He stayed silent, but she read his answer in his eyes. They were broken and drooped, weighed heavily by the bags that inverted his skin. But that wasn’t anything new. That didn’t speak as loudly as his eyes themselves. Rather, they looked as if they screamed the helplessness that he couldn’t. 

“Bucky,” she muttered again, before he raised the gun. “Bucky, please.” She stepped forward once more, and visibly winced as the barrel of the gun pressed to Bucky’s temple. He didn’t speak. 

“Bucky, please, we can- I can talk to someone, this doesn’t have to happen. I can find somewhere you can go,” she said and moved forward again, slowly. 

Bucky exploded with a bite in his voice. “Where? Where can I go? A penitentiary? Maybe they’ll lock me back up in a basement before they decide to kill me anyways.” 

“Bucky, no. We’ve all gotten away with awful things before, we can- we can convince them to let you go.” 

“You’re leaving,” he muttered as it dawned on him. He wasn’t sure how it mattered, or why he said it, but he felt the need to. 

“I know,” her eyes dropped to the cement, but quickly returned to Bucky’s gaze. “You can… you can stay with Clint while I’m gone, we’ll get things sorted out, and then I’ll be back. He’s- he’s off the grid, it would be nice, a chance for you to get away and- and think-” 

“He has children.” 

Natasha’s lips curled into a thin line. But her voice returned just as steadfast as before when she replied, after a bout of silence, “I know.” 

“He’d never let me be around them.” 

“He lets me,” she said, which hit Bucky with as much power as her last words. 

Bucky let out a sour laugh. He wasn’t sure why he was determined to fight her. “You’re sane. You don’t put people in danger just by being around them.” 

“Are you sure?” she said with a laugh that was a bit more genuine. 

Bucky hadn’t noticed that Natasha was much closer than before—just a few steps away. She had been periodically rolling her heels, trying to appear as if she wasn’t moving. Bucky wasn’t sure how she could take him so well by surprise, although, they were both quite the same. 

He pressed the gun harder against his head, leaving a ring of disturbed skin underneath it. All the muscles in his body tensed as she inched closer. His knuckles turned white against the handle, but the finger on the trigger didn’t move. Natasha, still moving cautiously, only reached softly up and grabbed Bucky’s hand, pulling the gun down and away from himself. The second it was pointed at the ground she pulled it from his hand. 

She took him back downstairs, they cooked dinner (which she made sure he ate), Bucky showered, and then slept right next to Natasha in her bed. He couldn’t remember when she’d hidden the gun after they got back in her apartment, or where. That was probably for the best. 

Weeks passed by as if they were bound with iron shackles. Bucky seemed to move alongside them. It might have been the fact that Bucky passed through sleepless nights and uneventful days. He couldn't leave Natasha's apartment, and she was frequently gone. He couldn't take it. He kept telling himself, _Tonight I’ll leave._ Then the next day would come. Again, _Tonight I’ll leave._ But again, he never did. He knew it was because he was holding on, and that was dangerous. 

That was because he knew every passing day meant Natasha was eventually going to leave. And when Natasha was gone, she was going to dump him on Clint. He didn’t want that. But some part of him believed that maybe, just maybe, he could get through this and go back home. If he knew it wasn’t going to happen, that it was hopeless, _Why the fuck am I still here?_

But still he stayed, until the day came for Natasha to leave. Bucky could only think of Steve leaving with her, without a farewell from Bucky. It wouldn’t have been the first time… so why did he feel as if both their hearts were aching? It was strange to think that about a month ago, Bucky left Steve to never come back. What boggled him most was that he didn’t intend to. 

When Steve first found him, Bucky was rogue. Stuck in a place between time, somewhere out of his own head. He was still piecing together his life, and his memories had washed over him. But he was still left with his training, with HYDRA. He could never go back. That first time, when he saw Steve after the destruction in D.C., Bucky didn’t speak. He just let himself be swept up while Steve took him in and gave him a meal that he didn’t eat. Steve didn’t ask questions when Bucky didn’t answer. After a while, they just sat in a perfect silence. Steve’s eyes never left Bucky—while his, in turn, never met Steve. Steve seemed to be content to just have Bucky there with him. 

Steve clothed and cleaned Bucky, who was wary to let him touch him. Despite his instinct to flinch, and the voice in the back of his head telling him none of it was good, he had the unbearable need to be by Steve’s side again. He could only think of him, and their life together. Everything from their pasts was long gone—except for, essentially, each other. The sense that someone knew, that he had someone to belong with, was enough for Bucky to convince that little voice that he needed Steve. Maybe, at the beginning, it was a bit of a selfish ploy to learn about himself. An identity was something he didn’t need; he was nothing but a subject. The Winter Soldier didn’t have a name. Anything to call his own. When Steve uttered his name on that bridge, things fell apart in Bucky. When could he ever have something to go by? Some purpose above killing? 

Steve offered his bed to Bucky and then slept on the couch. Bucky couldn’t manage to fall asleep in a bed. He ended up grabbing Steve’s pillow and sat in the lounge chair in the corner of the living room. He watched as Steve struggled with sleeping himself. Eventually, when Steve began to stir, Bucky returned his pillow and left out the window. A few nights afterwards, he was back on Steve’s doorstep, for more company and a meal he wouldn’t eat. He kept coming back, sometimes disappearing for weeks, and left the same night every time. Steve spoke to Bucky more and more each time, and, after a while, Bucky replied more comfortably. It was strange and unfamiliar, and yet, something that was carved in his mind as “home.” Steve was “home.” 

He wasn’t sure how long he’d been seeing Steve when things changed. Bucky thought they had been doing fine, but he knew phasing in and out of Steve’s life like a ghost wasn’t going to work forever. Bucky supposed things flipped when he came to Steve’s apartment one night to find him gone. Bucky thought he knew Steve’s work schedule (don’t ask), so he assumed he was on a mission. Bucky “let himself in.” He walked through Steve’s house, tracing the few months they’d reunited in his brain. The apartment felt barren without Steve there. It didn’t… feel right. So he took sanctuary in Steve’s bedroom, where the bed covers were disturbed, his clothes were in an orderly mess on the floor, and sketchbooks decorated his workspace. It felt like “Steve.” 

Bucky laid in Steve’s bed again, and wrapped himself in the comforter. He hugged Steve’s pillow to his chest, burying his nose in the cotton, and fell asleep in the fetal position. It was Steve that woke him up the next morning, sitting bemused on the edge of his bed, a tender hand on his shoulder. 

_…That’s when I stayed._

Now, that was all gone. Now, he was in Natasha’s passenger seat, in a silent car. It was early in the morning, considering at noon Natasha was due to leave. She needed a few hours to drive Bucky to a nondescript farm in the middle of nowhere, and have enough time to get back inconspicuously. 

They hadn’t spoken the entire ride, until Natasha said, “We’re going to fix this. I wasn’t okay with letting you go, but I thought if that’s what you needed, who was I to tell you no? I’ve abandoned countless people to protect them. But if I had known that the endgame for you was…” She trailed off and glanced at Bucky, but quickly looked back at the road. “I would have told someone sooner. You could’ve already been back with Steve, going with us on this mission.” 

“I don’t think that’s going to happen.” 

Natasha huffed, “We’re driving to Clint’s right now and you’re telling me that bullshit? This isn’t just so I can keep you stashed away. Clint are I doing this so that you have time that you desperately need. Not to mention time for _me_ to sort out the legalities so the Avengers will take you back and drop your charges.” 

“You don’t think they’ll say I snapped? That I’m unstable? Untrustworthy? I mean, they wouldn’t be wrong,” Bucky propped himself on his arm and looked out the window, but he could feel Natasha’s eyes burning into the back of his skull. 

“Don’t even start that,” she hissed, but took a deep breath in. Her voice came out softly once more. “I can’t keep you from thinking what you do about yourself. But I… I don’t think it’s true. Is that enough for you?” she sighed. Bucky didn’t answer. He wasn’t sure if he believed her, or himself. But it didn’t really matter. 

Could he… could he really go home? 

They didn’t speak for the remainder of the ride. Both of them had regretted a few words, but were too stubborn to recall them. Luckily for the both of them, after a few hours, they pulled up to the dirt driveway beside Clint’s house that was speckled with gravel. Natasha stepped out of the car to greet Clint, who was standing alone on his porch. Bucky stayed in the car and watched them anxiously. When Clint’s stern eyes met him, he pretended not to notice and began to look around the farm. It was…nice. 

Bucky stepped out, alerting Clint and Natasha. He silently grabbed his bag and walked over to them, but stayed at the end of the porch steps, looking at his feet. Natasha said a few parting words and descended the steps, stopping at Bucky. “Take care of yourself. Don’t go anywhere until I come back,” she said before hugging him. 

He hooked his hand on her hip and mumbled, “No promises.” They both smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone for being patient <3  
> Again, I'm sorry I couldn't post Saturday, the surgery takes a lot more out of you than you'd expect.  
> The schedule may now resume as before ╰(◡‿◡✿╰)


	17. Filled Chairs, Empty Tables

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm seeing Civil War tomorrow  
> Wish me luck  
> And for the welfare of this fanfiction lmao
> 
> Who's seen it already? owo  
> My Bitch has seen it already, but I told him to not even tell me if there was a happy ending I want to know absolutely nothing  
> Oh my gooood I'm so excited

He was more or less confused in the morning when he didn’t wake up in Natasha’s apartment. He had to sit on the edge of the bed and remind himself that Natasha was gone, so he was currently at Clint’s house. Someone he barely knew, not to mention with a family. Bucky knew he was disrupting that peace. It was going to be an interesting breakfast. It was strange to think that he’d felt the same foreign coldness as when he’d entered Steve’s apartment, as though he didn’t belong there (which he knew he didn’t). _How long ago was that…_

After that first night he’d stayed with Steve, it was a bit uncomfortable. They hadn’t really established what was going to happen afterwards—or maybe, in the back of their minds, they knew. Until they figured out a plan, Steve had relinquished rights to his bed, much to the protest of Bucky, who felt like he was kicking him out. Steve didn’t give in. Bucky always got anxious when he wasn’t with Steve, like when he was at work, or when they parted ways to sleep. Sleeping was always difficult. He couldn’t count how many times he’d created a barrier of pillows and pretended Steve was sleeping beside him. It didn’t really work, but it…helped. 

The first few days after Bucky started “living” with Steve, they fumbled about trying to get used to the idea of one another again. Cooking meals together were about the only times things seemed relaxed in the house. Bucky didn’t know he could cook. It seemed natural to him. Little did he know, as he helped Steve prepare dinner, he was hit with a sense of déjà vu. When Steve was sick, Bucky would often come and stay for days at a time and help nurse Steve back to health. He learned to cook as a way to comfort him, and knew exactly what he needed when he needed it. He remembered curling up with a shivering Steve, skin flaring with ailments, looking particularly deathly. Bucky, as he chopped bell peppers, remembered Steve at times like those when he was ill. Back when he was the only thing Steve had, when he depended on him. After everyone in the world had left him, Bucky stayed. He didn’t notice the hot tears that silently stained his cheeks, while the knife in his hand stilled. 

It was the beginning of their life for Bucky—but to Steve, they’d been through all of this already. With every new memory, it came with a tightening in his chest. He’d been all Steve had. And then, one day, Bucky was gone too. 

Most of their conversations were either pertaining to their pasts together, or mundane things that meant nothing and yet the world to Bucky. From what he could remember, Steve treated him as he always had, only now, with a certain caution, as if he were afraid of upsetting Bucky. Bucky wasn’t sure if he preferred that. But he could remember Steve’s protective nature, so, he supposed, he may not have treated him so differently. 

Bucky didn’t know how long he’d been staying there. The nights that passed seemed to blur together in an endless cycle of dozing, then abruptly waking. Whenever he laid there, staring at the ceiling, lit dimly by the light outside, he had to remind himself where he was. _Steve is here. He’s here. Just in the other room._ When that didn’t calm his fright, he’d often spend the rest of the night sitting in the same chair, out-looking the living room where Steve had been sleeping the past few weeks. One night, he fell asleep sitting up, his legs curled against his chest. After finding him there, Steve didn’t ask him any questions, and they went about their morning as normal. Bucky had hoped he would ask him questions. He desperately wanted Steve to push, to stop keeping his distance for Bucky’s sake. 

So, the night afterwards, after a lull of conversation over dinner, Steve mumbled a ‘goodnight’ as he expected Bucky to turn and walk into his bedroom. Instead, Bucky crossed his arms and leaned against the doorframe. “Steve,” he said firmly. He turned, eyebrows raised in question at Bucky. For a moment they stood in silence, as Bucky’s throat burned. He wasn’t sure how the hell to ask someone this. He tried to play it off smoothly. “You don’t have to sleep on the couch, you know.” 

Steve shook his head. “No, that’s okay. I don’t mind letting you sleep in there.” 

“No, I’m not suggesting… I mean, you can…” Bucky lowered his eyes, his face remaining flat as he cleared his throat. He finished confidently, saying, “You can sleep in here, too.” 

Steve shifted, crossing his arms as well. Bucky didn’t show the fear that Steve would be uncomfortable with the suggestion. _That was stupid. Fucking. Ugh._ Instead, concern was apparent in Steve’s eyes as he asked, “Would that be okay?” 

Bucky heaved a mental sigh of relief. Immediately, his mind raced with more thoughts of worry. _Hurry. Come up with an excuse other than, ‘I want to have you near me.’_ He tried on a smile (something that rarely happened at the time) and said, “I can’t help but feel like I’m kicking you out of your bed.” 

Steve replied with another look of resignation and said, “If that’s the reason, I really don’t mind it, Buck.” 

Shit. What now? Bucky shook his head and took a careful step forward. “Really, I’m okay. Just get your ass in here. We’ve slept together before, are we too old for that now?” Something crossed Steve’s eyes that Bucky couldn’t read. It looked like hesitation, but not out of disgust. But that didn’t matter, so long as now, Bucky had Steve beside him. He laid back in his bed with a satisfied grunt and turned on his side, away from Bucky. Bucky spent the night facing him, looking at the grooves in his back, and remembering the numerous times they’d slept in the same bed before. 

A few months passed, and something flipped, even though Bucky denied it for the longest time. Steve was his _best friend._ He couldn’t mistake the glint in Steve's eyes when he looked at Bucky, or a touch that lingered too long, or when their faces “accidentally” ended up closer than needed, as something more than what it was. It couldn’t mean something more. He was Steve Rogers, and he was his Bucky, his friend from childhood. Steve would never want that kind of relationship from Bucky. And, yet, Steve still continued to push closer and closer, until they both broke. Steve was the one to kiss him. Even as he did it, his eyes asked for permission from Bucky, who still jumped if you touched him without his being prepared for it. Steve taking that kiss from him was something he didn’t know he needed as badly as he did. It was the night they first kissed one another, touched one another’s hands, faces, with different intent and meaning beneath their skin. And it was when everything in Bucky seemed to shift, as they laid there, tangled in Steve’s bed. 

That was all just a distant memory. Now, Bucky was sitting at a dining table surrounded by the Barton family. 

Breakfast consisted mainly of silence, while Laura fed Nathaniel, and Cooper and Lila stared at Bucky. Bucky stared right back. Clint watched the exchange and sighed. He finally cleared his throat and said, “Staring is rude.” 

Bucky turned with a small quirk to his lips. “What, are you talking to them, or me?” Laura and Clint both laughed lightly, while their two eldest children continued to stare. 

Lila seemed to ignore both men. She spoke softly, but in a nasally voice that cut through the laughter. “Do you live with Auntie Nat? She dropped you off here.” 

Bucky raised his eyebrows attentively and looked down towards her. “Oh, uh… No, I don’t. I’m just staying with her for a while. But she’s not here right now, so…” 

Cooper asked, not really intrusive so much as curious, “Are you her boyfriend?” 

Bucky and Clint both shook their heads, laughing. Cooper looked on, appearing a little disappointed, or more likely frustrated with being laughed at. Laura reached out towards Bucky’s hand, not quite touching him, but resting on the table. She lowered her voice in a whisper, as if she were telling a story, and leaned towards the children. “James is actually _Captain America’s_ boyfriend.” 

“Fiancé,” Clint corrected. 

While the kids gawked in amazement, Bucky looked on in shock. He wasn’t expecting that in the least. Props to Clint and Laura for not trying to sugarcoat that he was marrying another man, and even more considering their children's absolutely normal reactions. 

Laura gasped, “Fiancé? You must have not told me, Clint. Congratulations, James!” This time, when she reached for his hand, their fingers touched. Bucky smiled softly. 

First Wanda, and now Laura. ‘James.’ Natasha had to be rubbing off on other people. 

Bucky’s smile fell. He didn’t know where he was going from here—Natasha insisted that she would fix this, and Bucky would get his happy ending. But he just couldn’t imagine it being reality. But, he stayed, so there was some part of him that wanted to believe her. Still, he stayed uncertain, as he dropped his head and whispered, “Thanks. I really do appreciate this.” 

Laura smiled. Lila continued to stare, but with more astonishment than before. Curiosity, however, stayed strong in her eyes. 

Cooper’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. He still seemed stuck on the aforementioned topic. “How come you’re not at Mr. Rogers’s house? Did you fight?” 

_Because I murdered someone. Now I’m in your house to stay hidden._ …Maybe explaining that would require a bit of sugarcoating. Bucky merely caught eyes with Clint and said, “Something like that. But it’s going to be fine.” 

Was it, really? 

Clint had made two preset conditions for Bucky to stay there: help around the homestead, and be careful around the children. They were doing so much for him, carrying so much weight for Bucky, so the least he could do were exactly those things. He understood Clint and Laura’s concern for their family, and they had every right to be careful. After all, it was a given that they’d be cautious of a killer staying in their home for who knows how many months. 

As for Bucky’s handiness, he could quickly understand a mechanism and operate it. Chopping wood or lifting bales wasn’t so easy at first without his left arm, but he got the hang of it. Laura was pleasantly surprised by the fact that Bucky could cook. Cooper and Lila seemed to take to him, following him around if he wasn’t occupied by one of their parents. After a few days of all of this social buzzing, Bucky figured a few months of this might not be so crippling after all. It was just the anticipation that in an indiscernible amount of time, both Steve and Natasha would be returning home. That’s when everything was decided. He’d be incarcerated or taken back into Steve’s home. Or, if it went the way he expected, he’d end up dead. Though he told himself he’d figure it out once the day came, it ate at him. 

Particularly during one of these thoughts, Bucky sat on the swinging bench on Clint’s porch. The sun had set, leaving the shadows of the forest stretched across the field, and the land dim. The sky grew darker with every passing second it seemed, but it may have been the fact that Bucky wasn’t paying much attention to anything other than his thoughts. Whenever he came to, the world around him slowly crawled into nighttime. He didn’t notice that Lila had walked up to him until she sat beside him on the bench. 

“Hi,” she said sweetly, swinging her legs underneath the seat. Bucky smiled at her, but panic spiked in him. The kids had never been around him without one of their parents. She leaned forward, stretching her neck, as if she were observing Bucky. After a swath of silence consisting of this, she sat back and said matter-of-factly, “Mommy didn’t want me to ask what happened to your arm. Mommy's not here.” 

Okay, that made Bucky laugh. He liked this kid. He shook his head and said, “I won’t tell. I… fell and hurt it. It was really bad, so they removed it. I have a metal one, but Mr. Stark is fixing it for me.” 

“Iron Man? You know him?” she said as her eyes lit up. 

“A little. Just because of Steve.” 

She nodded understandingly. “I’ve only met him once when they came to our house. Auntie Nat was there too, and Thor, and Mr. Bruce, and Mr. Rogers. ...oh! Mr. Rogers was there! I’ve met your husband before!” 

Bucky flushed and immediately shook his head. “No, no, he’s not my husband yet…” 

_‘Yet.’ Funny how you think that’s going to happen._

“Ohh,” Lila continued, “Well, when he _is_ your husband, I hope you guys don’t fight anymore.” She began to pick at her fingernails. 

Bucky felt a warmth spread in his chest at the simple compassion of this little girl. Though he knew she could probably go on about their engagement, he wasn't really ready for that subject yet. He was still battling whether or not the wedding was still on, by either his or Steve's choice. He just wanted to forget about it, so Bucky was the one to change the subject this time. He nudged her hands and said, “Don’t pick. You’ll hurt your fingers.” 

She pouted and grabbed his hand, making him grow rigid. She looked at his fingers, spreading his palm with her small, smooth hands. His fingernails were bit to the quick, and his cuticles were inflamed and peeled. “You hurt yours. You should stop picking at them, too,” she said, her focus fully on his hand. Before he had time to reply she jumped out of the seat and pulled him back into the house. 

…He liked this kid.


	18. The Passage of Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So
> 
> Civil War was an  
>  _Experience_
> 
> *goes to watch it three more times*

Clint was a bit wary when his daughter came back in the house holding Bucky’s hand. With a reaction that was quite the opposite, Laura watched, absolutely giddy. Clint was in the living room feeding Nathaniel, while Cooper was in the kitchen with his mother. Bucky offered to help her, but Lila answered for her as she tugged him to the dining room table. Laura and Bucky exchanged amused smiles, and she shook her head and mouthed, ‘It’s okay.’ She then gestured to Cooper, as if to say, _I’ve got a helper._

Lila sat Bucky down at the dining room table and said, “Don’t go anywhere.” 

When she came back with a pack of patterned bandages, Bucky couldn’t help the wide smile that stretched across his face. They were covered in differently colored butterflies, which she promptly wrapped around the ends of each of his fingers. When dinnertime came, Lila sat right beside him, while he mostly listened to her talk and ask questions about her ‘Auntie Nat’ (which Bucky found absolutely adorable, and also something he would hold to her later). Clint seemed to get a bit more comfortable. 

The next morning, Bucky wouldn’t admit that he’d gotten teary-eyed finding a squiggly, crayon drawing of the Avengers (well, the ones Lila were most familiar with): Tony, Thor, Bruce, Natasha, her father, Steve… and Bucky. 

For the next few days, Bucky paraded proudly around the house with his colorful bandages. 

Bucky started a journal. It was at Natasha’s suggestion, and Laura enforced the idea when she handed Bucky a small notebook. At first, he didn’t see the point, but when he actually found himself writing, he couldn’t bring himself to stop. It was a good outlet. It felt like a confessional, without actually telling any secrets. He mostly wrote about his days at the homestead, how his relationship with Clint’s family surprised him, and his uncertainty about his future. If things went downhill, he’d most likely go back on the run. If he ever saw Steve again, he’d try to convince him not to pursue him. He wanted him to move on. But with every day that got closer to when they’d return, Bucky found himself itching to touch Steve again, to be touched. He wanted to think that things would be okay in the end. 

He didn’t know where Steve was. He ached to think that Steve may be thinking the same thoughts, painfully missing Bucky. Whenever Bucky told himself that that couldn’t possibly be the case, he quickly tried to chase the thought away by writing it down. It usually ended up being something along the lines of, _How could Steve miss me? Why did he chase after me? Why is he trying so hard? I’m not worth that._

He didn’t know that Steve was currently on a hotel balcony, sitting with his sketchbook and pencil in hand. He had nearly finished his next drawing, simply tracing stronger lines. He looked at the drawing longingly. It was Steve’s hands caressing Bucky’s metal one, as he slipped on his wedding band. He recalled the details of his hand, the grooves in the metal, and how it shined agelessly. He was consumed by the thought of losing Bucky, but had to occupy his mind with his current mission. Natasha could tell that he mulled tirelessly over him. Steve kept the note that he had written, and just as before, wore Bucky’s ring above his own. It comforted him, helping him believe that there was a chance he’d find him again. He would. He stared emptily at the rings before writing one line underneath the portrait. 

_What are you thinking right now, Buck?_

Three months passed. Three months Bucky had worked and functioned in a “family” environment. Three months after he had gotten there, and he found himself in quite the compromising position. 

He felt like Cooper didn’t like him very well. It would make sense. He didn’t have the innocent judgement of youth that Lila had. At first, he showed great interest in Bucky, but the past week, the distance between he and Cooper began to grow. Eventually, he would stay at his father’s hip if Bucky was in the room, studying him from afar. Bucky couldn’t feel bad about it, though. Cooper had no obligation to like Bucky. 

At least, that’s what Bucky thought, until Cooper approached him one day. Bucky was thoroughly surprised as Cooper silently presented a wooden, painted, and polished sculpture of a blue jay. Taken aback, Bucky stared at it for a moment, before Cooper said, “It’s a wedding present from me and dad.” 

Bucky, realizing what was happening, smiled brightly and took it, thanking him. He caught up with Clint later, who said that Cooper didn’t want to spoil the surprise, but it was too obvious that he was avoiding Bucky. He was just relieved that one of their children didn’t despise him—instead, gave him a gift to cheer him up. He always held the sculpture carefully, watching over it, even though it was such a simple gesture. Sometimes, when he wrote in his journal, he'd take the bird out of his duffel bag and place it on the desk, as if it were his silent audience. 

It was long after midnight when Laura found Bucky sitting in the kitchen, writing, sculpture placed on the dining table with him. 

_Sometimes I feel like I can’t breathe. I start shaking, and my heart begins to skip, like my chest is going to cave in on itself. I can’t think or see clearly. I just feel the need to escape, to hide, I don’t know. Sometimes I vomit. Most times I just clam up, and Steve just tries to…be there. He’s always there if he can help it. Before, during, after. He’s never left. The only times they’ve really ever affected me is when I’m alone. Because they leave me feeling empty, and I’m stuck with my brain for who knows how long. They leave me with awful thoughts. They leave me thinking that the people in my life are going to disappear, and I’m going to have to go back to the lab. I don’t want to go back. I don’t want to go ba_

Bucky jumped, nearly dropping his pen as he noticed Laura. She was holding Nathaniel, who was wide awake, while she herself looked on the exhausted side. She gave a weak smile, which Bucky returned. He closed the notebook as she walked near. She sat in the chair beside him, cradling Nathaniel, and said, “Can’t sleep?” 

After a cup of tea that Bucky prepared, they ascended back upstairs and into the nursery. They both agreed that neither of them would be sleeping any time soon. They talked quietly, afraid of waking anyone else up, as well as Nathaniel. Bucky smiled as he remembered Natasha still would call Nathaniel “her baby.” Laura struggled to keep her eyes open, and watched Bucky as he looked at the pair. She raised him slowly, her smile sincere as she asked, “Do you want to hold him?” 

Bucky looked at her, probably a bit more shocked than he intended. He couldn’t lie. He could tell how tired she seemed, so he figured he should do her that favor. He nodded slightly, and she turned towards him on the couch, placing the half-asleep Nathaniel on Bucky’s chest. Carefully, he propped Nathaniel up with his arm, holding his back with his hand. His head rested on Bucky’s shoulder, while his hands curled underneath him. He quickly fell back asleep. 

When Bucky looked over to Laura, she had leaned against the back of couch, and had fallen asleep as well. Bucky panicked for a moment, not sure what to do. What if Nathaniel woke up? He only had one hand to work with; he couldn’t feed or change him. _Should I wake her up? But she needs to sleep... Oh, fuck._

Bucky could feel Nathaniel’s heartbeat. It was small, and faint, but it was there. He felt overwhelmed by the vulnerability, the life he currently held in his arms. He couldn’t trust himself with it. He looked down at Nathaniel. In that moment, he wished he could always feel so simple, that everything would be okay. He wished he could let go of his worries and come back to the feeling of peace he felt as he looked at the precious, fragile being he held. 

He didn’t know why those feelings came over him. He felt the need to protect Nathaniel, everything that he meant to the people around him. Who could think such a small thing could mean so much. He supposed it was something paternal, some instinct, some longing to have a family. Maybe. He knew it could never happen, so maybe Nathaniel, Lila, and Cooper were the closest things he would ever have to a family. Maybe that’s why when he turned and kissed the brunette baby hairs on Nathaniel’s head, he felt complete. 

Clint found them the next morning, huddled on the couch. He didn’t mention it—only silently woke Laura and returned Nathaniel to his crib. Bucky woke up thinking he’d just forgotten to go back to the guest room, but Clint and Laura wouldn’t forget the sight of Nathaniel laid on Bucky’s chest, both of them sleeping soundly. 

It was easier for Bucky to count the days. Clint kept him updated on Natasha’s status through the Avengers (who were still on a manhunt for Bucky). Things seemed to be going well. The duration of their trip may have ended up shorter than they originally planned, which made Bucky both relieved and panicked. With each week, each month that passed, Bucky found himself chasing after those days, wishing they’d slow down. He wasn’t ready. He wasn’t ready to confront Steve. Had Natasha told him? How would he react when he found out Bucky had been staying with her right under Steve’s nose? He didn’t want Natasha to get blamed for it. He’d have to tell Steve it wasn’t her fault when he got back. 

_When he got back…_

Half a year passed in the entirety that Bucky had been there. The thought made Bucky feel immensely strange—he’d barely been with Steve for two years previously. And yet that half year with the Bartons seemed so simple. Maybe it was the sincerity, the genuine way they treated Bucky, not as a foreign object in their house, but still considering their safety. Like a human. A human who had made mistakes but wasn’t cast out like a criminal. Or, maybe, it was the way they wholeheartedly involved him in anything happening around the house, welcoming him as if he were part of the family. Bucky would probably be the creepy uncle. Natasha would be the aunt who brought the kids cool stuff so she was always their favorite. 

That would explain the cake Laura let him carry one-handed to the dining room table. Bucky was proud to say he insisted on baking it. It read in neat, purple icing, ‘Happy Birthday, Nathaniel!’ The candle in the center was shaped like a '1.' They all sang softly to Nathaniel, who simply stared on in his highchair, with a grin that didn’t quite house all of his teeth yet. 

Bucky sang along. He didn’t know how long it had been since he’d done that. He remembered Steve’s singing voice, from when they were kids, when Bucky would catch him in the middle of a verse and tease him for it. But not before stopping to listen. Steve had a beautiful voice, though he was always embarrassed if he realized Bucky was listening. Now, Steve didn’t sing much. Bucky could only remember hearing his voice once since they’d found each other again. Steve was watching his sleeping figure with a soothing hum, occasionally opening his lips to sing in a whisper, almost absentminded as he braided Bucky's hair. Bucky had woken up in the midst of this and looked at Steve with an entertained smirk. “What the hell are you doing?” Though he was referring to the braid in his hair, Steve immediately clenched his mouth shut and retracted his hands from Bucky with an apology. 

He didn’t sing after that.


	19. Tell a Secret

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter got put up a little later than normal ono  
> I promise I'm not lazy  
> (i mean practically)
> 
> Dear god it's almost over  
> What am I going to do with my life

“He’s at Clint’s house.” 

Natasha stood a few paces away from Steve in his hotel room. He was halfway turned towards her, arms crossed across his chest. His hands wrapped firmly around his biceps, as he was tense throughout. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, fidgeting with her hands. He stared at her, jaws locked together. She found herself unable to look away, afraid it would show that she was afraid of Steve. She wasn’t. She was afraid of hurting him. Tears stung at the corners of his eyes as his eyebrows quirked up for a moment. He said in a small voice, that read his misery, “Are you serious?” 

Natasha nodded slowly. 

Steve cleared his throat and turned, trying to stave away his tears with a shake of his head. He wasn’t afraid to show that he was disappointed. “How long have you known, huh? How long were you going to keep this from me?” 

“He didn’t want you to know,” Natasha said, almost too quickly. She wasn’t sure how to handle Steve when he acted like this. She crossed her arms as well, but her stance was rigid, as if she were defending herself. 

Steve huffed a jagged laugh, shaking his head again. His angry smile faded as he said, “Why would you keep something like that from me? You know this is what I’ve been _terrified_ of from the _moment_ I got him back. Why would you let him do that? Did you just plan on letting him leave? I haven’t seen him in seven months. Seven fucking months! And you knew where he was the _whole_ time?” 

Natasha’s lips furled as she spat, “You think this is what I wanted? What was I going to do, force him to go home when he’s scared to see you? He would just run away again, and then he wouldn’t come back to me for help! He’d just disappear, and I don’t think he’d have the intention of being found!” 

Steve’s face went slack, still stuck on her earlier words. “Why is he scared of seeing me?” 

Natasha’s words caught in her throat. He’d have to know, eventually. Why not just rip the bandage off all at once? “…He killed someone.” 

“I know that.” Steve’s eyebrows drew together in confusion. 

Natasha shook her head. “No. It was after the Soldier. It was the night he went missing. He came to my door covered in blood.” 

Steve stared on, disbelief blatant in his eyes. “He couldn’t have-” 

“He did. And he’s felt more guilt than you can imagine. He knows what he’s done and thinks he’s a danger to everyone. He doesn’t want to hurt you. He thought he could get over the Soldier, but it’s part of him. It always will be. If you can’t admit that, you can’t help him,” she said as she took another step forward. 

Steve’s anger was fueled once more as he hissed, “You don’t get it. Don’t even compare him to the Solider. You don’t know anything about guilt. Bucky doesn’t deserve to be ridiculed for the things he’s done, especially from you.” 

“He almost shot himself, Steve.” 

Steve swayed in his spot. He mumbled a soft, “What?” 

Natasha ignored him and stepped forward again, firm and brimming with the need to keep Steve from turning this around on her. “You think I don’t understand how he felt? I had to coax him from killing himself on a rooftop. From putting a goddamn bullet in his head.” 

Steve fell onto the edge of the hotel bed, letting out a breath that he’d been holding in. 

She continued, ignoring Steve’s distress. “Tell me again that he should’ve come to you. Tell me that he shouldn’t have been afraid of you. That what he did wasn’t a big deal. It doesn’t matter what you think about this—it’s the fact that Bucky was prepared to erase himself because he thought he’d lost everything. He had painted a picture in his mind that you would throw him away if you knew. If you care, if you don’t, it won’t change what Bucky thinks. Even if you have all the faith in the world in him, he doesn’t think you do." Natasha let out a threatening laugh. “You’re lucky he stayed. When we get back, and we see him again, do me a favor, and don’t give him any doubts.” 

With that, she turned and left, leaving Steve with his palms pressed against his forehead. 

Two months later, Bucky had just come back from the barn with Clint when he found Steve sitting at their dining table. Natasha and Sam were also there, but Bucky’s vision seemed to tunnel onto the man turned in his seat, speaking with Laura. Laura was faced towards him, so when she saw Bucky enter, her eyes rose to him apprehensively. 

Steve saw her motion, and the look on her face. He twisted around in his chair. Bucky was frozen in place, while his throat seemingly swelled up, preventing him from breathing. It seemed like an eternity that they stared at each other, when in reality, Steve stood almost immediately when he caught Bucky’s eyes. When he stepped forward, Bucky in turn took a step back. 

“Buck,” Steve said quietly, desperation contorting his voice. 

Bucky dropped his eyes and shook his head frantically. He mouthed, ‘No. No.’ He turned and walked as quickly as he could towards the door. Steve broke into a run and followed him. No one else did. Bucky made it down the porch steps, still shaking his head, and raised his arm as a way to tell Steve to stay away. Steve pursued, stepping down the stairs, and came up behind Bucky. He threw his arms around him, whose knees buckled as they dropped to the ground. Bucky only uttered winces, trying half-heartedly to wrestle himself from Steve’s grasp. He felt the familiar tightening of his chest, the blurring of his vision, but kept himself floored with the feeling of Steve’s hold. He hadn’t felt it in… 

“Steve, please,” he managed to choke out, taking a shuddering breath in. 

Steve replied in a forceful voice, “No. I’m not going to let you go.” 

“Please,” Bucky repeated. His voice grew weaker and weaker. “Please.” 

“I don’t want to let you go,” Steve said as his grip tightened, burying his face in the back of Bucky’s neck. 

Bucky’s head remained bowed as he whispered, “You know what I’ve done.” 

Steve didn’t hesitate when he breathed against his skin, “I don’t care. I don’t care, Bucky. I just need you with me. I can’t let you go. I can’t lose you again.” 

Bucky didn’t speak for moments that dragged on endlessly. He kept his eyes to the dirt, seeing his hand curled against his chest, and Steve’s locked around his waist. He saw both of the rings on his finger. He wasn’t sure if anything that was happening was real, or if it’d disappear in mere seconds. It had before. He was on his knees, being held by Steve, whom he’d spent almost a year without. He just whispered, “I love you.” 

Steve didn’t answer. He turned and kneeled in front of Bucky, keeping his eyes on him, hands strong on his shoulders. Bucky wasn’t sure if it was to keep him steady or to prevent him from leaving. Either way, he was glad. Steve leaned forward, snaking his arms back around him, and laid his head on Bucky’s shoulder, who did the same. Their knees were scuffed and dusted by the driveway, but neither of them cared. Bucky’s arm slid to Steve’s back and clenched around the material of his shirt. He supposed he was keeping Steve trapped, too. 

Finally, Steve said, “I love you, Buck.” They both sat on their knees, wrapped around one another. 

Natasha, Sam, and Laura had been watching from the window. They all pretended as if they hadn’t when the two came back in the house. They all sat around the dining room table, Sam watching Bucky cautiously, while Natasha’s eyes were stuck to Steve. Steve had his chair pressed to Bucky’s, his arm draped around the back of his chair. Natasha and Steve were the only ones who spoke, passing off the status regarding the murder, and how she had resolved the issue. The call was a proper therapist for Bucky before he could be released for missions, but that was enough for him. 

While they were speaking, Clint came downstairs with Cooper, Lila, and Nathaniel. Laura stood, looking to Clint questionably. He answered her silent glare and said, “I told them James was going home.” 

Everyone in the room, except for the Bartons, was surprised when Cooper and Lila ran towards Bucky, who stood to hug them. He held them close, while they whined. Steve and Sam stared on in astonishment. He pulled away, while Lila craned her neck to look up at him. She said, “Are you coming back?” 

Natasha stepped forward and crouched in front of her, saying, “I’ll make sure he does, even if I have to drag him here.” She gave her a wink, and Lila nodded with a smile returning to her lips. "Now, sweetie, let's go see mommy." Bucky watched Natasha and the kids leave before he walked to Clint. He reached up and stroked the short hairs on Nathaniel's head, looking to the baby warmly. He didn't want to leave them, this family, but he needed Steve, too. Besides, this family wasn't his. 

As they stood outside, by Steve's car, Clint told him he could come back whenever he wanted/needed, and neither Bucky nor Laura would admit that they'd gotten teared up when they exchanged a parting hug. Natasha's goodbye was, "Text me, damn it." The kids waved from the porch as they drove away. Natasha stayed behind to spend some well-needed time with the others. Sam left beforehand with little to no words for Bucky, and he wondered if he was there because he didn’t trust Bucky and wanted to make sure Steve wouldn’t do anything he would regret. There was a familiar silence in the car ride back to Steve’s house. It was agonizing, considering the hours before they’d even get back into the city, spent in such close proximity with one another. He didn’t want things to go unresolved between them. He didn’t want things to just go back to “normal.” 

When they got to the outskirts of the city, Steve silently pulled the car off of the road and parked. The sunset had already come and gone, leaving the sky sapphire in color. Bucky raised his head and looked to Steve, a bit puzzled. He looked like he was waiting for Bucky to say something. 

Bucky hesitated before saying, “Why did you pull over?” 

“I want you to talk to me,” Steve leaned forward. 

Bucky recoiled slightly in his seat, averting his eyes in his nervousness. Steve pressed forward, placing a hand on Bucky’s leg, leaving him to grimace in reply. He was still unprepared for what Steve would think, what he would say. Despite everything he’d done to find him, he didn’t trust Steve with himself. 

“Let’s just… let’s go home,” Bucky said and turned his head. 

Steve continued to stare at him. After a bit, he nodded, removed the hand from Bucky’s leg, and turned back to the wheel. The rest of the car ride reverted back to the silence from before. Bucky still felt the handprint on his leg, now left cold with Steve’s absence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO I'M GOING TO SEE CIVIL WAR AGAIN TOMORROW


	20. The Absence of You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was aiming to finish this at 20 chapters (because that number is fitting I think) but I still have more left in the story
> 
> (this is totally not me wanting to extend this fanfiction because I don't want to let go whaaaat)

Steve followed after Bucky into the apartment. He clutched his bag close to his chest as he entered the living room. It felt as if he were returning to a home that he didn’t belong to. The place was eerily clean, dark, with nothing out of place. After all, it hadn’t been lived in for the past eight months that Steve had been in the field.

Eight months that he’d stayed with the Bartons. Add one more, and that’s how long it had been since they’d seen one another.

To Bucky, Steve seemed understandably aggravated. The moment they stepped inside, he silently, still with the same gentleness as before, took Bucky’s bag and descended into their bedroom. Bucky was afraid to speak, afraid of Steve. He shouldn’t have been afraid of Steve. Bucky stood behind in the doorway and watched as Steve placed the bag on the bed, grasping the material tightly, frustration apparent in his closed fists. Steve sighed and composed himself again before beginning to unpack the bag, unrolling Bucky’s clothes and folding them again, neatly, as if to say, _You’re staying. Without question._

The night he left, Bucky had only packed what he needed: the few clothes he owned (what he had on his back when he moved in with Steve, and what Steve had bought him, though he still mostly wore Steve’s clothes), a passport (‘Just in case,’ he told himself), and a roll of money (which had grown smaller as he helped pay Natasha and the Bartons while he stayed in their homes). Then, he remembered the things in his pack that he’d brought back with him: Cooper’s bird and the journal Laura had given him. His heart jumped when he realized that the journal was in there, right below Steve’s hands. Steve couldn’t see, he couldn’t know what Bucky had written in there.

Bucky wordlessly walked forward and silently reached into the bag, stalling Steve. For a moment, it looked like Steve flinched when he saw Bucky’s hand near his. Bucky pretended like he didn’t notice, and could almost convince himself that he was imagining things.

Bucky didn’t say anything as he pulled the notebook and the sculpture from the bag. Some part of him wanted Steve to ask him about it, just so he could deny him access to the book, just so they could speak. When Steve didn’t, Bucky couldn’t help but feel antsy, without explanation, with not being able to tell how Steve was feeling. What did he think about this? Was he happy that Bucky was home?

Was Bucky happy that he was home?

He placed the bird on his nightstand, and put the book in the drawer. He saw that the drawer was disorderly, probably because of when Steve was on his search. He didn’t mention it—rather, the first words Bucky spoke were loud and out of place in the empty silence that seemingly echoed through the room. “Steve… where- where’s my phone?” He shook his head, thinking that sounded way too much like he wanted to escape, figuratively or literally. He explained, saying, “I mean, Natasha wanted me to tell her when we got home.”

Steve looked up at him, jaw clenched. “I can text her.”

_Well. Guess that means you don’t want me to have my phone. Why is it that I feel like a fucking kid?_

Bucky just nodded and told himself not to get angry. He didn’t think he had the right to. He was the one that ran away, that ended a life, and was ready to pay for it. He walked back over to the bag and helped put his clothes back into their shared drawers.

Once they’d finished, the both of them showered, ate, basically did what they normally did, without feeling, without touch. The way Steve approached conversation with Bucky was almost professional. He told him that the Avengers knew of his return, his crime, and he would be excused for it under strict rule. Just as with the crimes committed by any of the Avengers, they felt sympathy for Bucky, and were willing to compromise. At least, they pretended to.

After dinner, they sat in the living room, Bucky curled up in the corner of the couch with his legs pulled against his chest. It looked vaguely like Natasha's interrogation the morning after Bucky showed up at her door. Steve had the same lean, the interlaced fingers, and the patient look.

“Do you want to talk to me now?” Steve asked, in a way that wasn’t really asking, but demanding.

“If… you want to,” Bucky answered, flitting his eyes from Steve’s to the floor. “What do you want me to say?”

“I’m asking you. We don’t have to talk about what happened. I don’t care. I just want… I want you to talk to me. I want you to tell me why you didn’t come to me for help. I want you to tell me what you’re thinking,” he paused. “I don’t know what you’re thinking.” Steve shook his head, and his stare morphed into a look of helplessness.

Bucky could look him in the eyes, then, dismayed by the tone of Steve’s voice. Bucky moved to sit beside him, and told himself again that Steve _didn’t_ try to move away. Bucky needed to be near him. He needed to ignore his gut that screamed to stay away. He leaned his head on Steve’s shoulder after a deep inhale. Immediately, Steve melted, and with Bucky’s silent permission, enveloped him in his arms. Bucky wondered if he’d been purposely avoiding him because he recoiled when Steve touched him in the car. He didn’t care about that. He wanted Steve to take all of what Bucky could give. He wanted Steve to trust him.

“God, I missed you,” Steve whispered, and pressed his lips to Bucky’s hair.

Bucky hummed, merely saying, “I’m sorry.” Steve shushed him and pulled him closer, but Bucky continued anyways, and this time, Steve let him. “I didn’t want to leave. Or maybe I did. I don’t know. But I just… I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t come to you because I couldn’t face what I’d done. We were going to get married. I was going to work again, and the world learned I was alive. If I was going to lose all of it, everything, why stay to watch it happen? So I thought running away was my best option. I was perfectly fine before, on the run, taking care of myself. But that’s because I had you back in my head. Without the mission, I didn’t have a purpose. That’s why I was alive, before. But once I was free… you were the thing that made me want to wake up in the morning. Even before I found you, even when you weren’t mine, simply knowing you were alive and in this world with me, carrying the same burdens of time, that was enough. It was enough to keep me going. Maybe I knew, eventually, I was going to end up at your door, so that’s why I stayed alone for so long, just watching you live your life.” Bucky raised his right hand and placed it on Steve’s chest. His heart was beating slow and gentle.

Steve understood in that moment why Bucky stood on that rooftop, ready to let go.

“Two weeks after I thought you died, I didn’t think I was going to survive on the Valkyrie.”

Bucky looked up to Steve with a bemused smile. “What are you talking about?”

“I still had hope that you were alive when your regiment got taken by Hydra. I wouldn’t give up until I could know for sure if you were dead. Because I wasn’t going to take the chance if you weren’t, then leave you to get shot alongside your brothers.”

“I already know all of this, Steve,” Bucky said, and buried his nose back into the nape of Steve’s neck.

“But when I watched you plummet off the side of a mountain, I thought, ‘He’s gone.’ I couldn’t go looking for you. I knew you were dead. So I didn’t care anymore. My only mission then was to protect the people Hydra wanted to destroy. I wanted to erase Hydra so they couldn’t cause anyone the same pain they caused me. I thought my mission was over once the Tesseract was secured. I thought I was going to die. I didn’t give Peggy my coordinates for a reason. When the crash didn’t kill me, I laid down in the floor of that cabin and waited for the cold to do it. Once I completed my mission, I was ready to come home to you.”

They both knew what "home" meant.

Bucky’s smile went awry, still in Steve’s arms. He could swear his heart stopped. He raised his head again and looked at Steve, before hitting him straight on the chest. “You’re fucking lucky you didn’t actually die. I would’ve killed you.”

Steve looked like he was about to laugh, but he reverted back to his morose tone. His frustration returned. “…Buck, Natasha told me you almost shot yourself. The way you're feeling right now, that's the same way I felt when she told me that. I had lost you before, so her telling me that is like reliving a nightmare I don't want to dream. You have always had me.”

Bucky’s scowl worsened into a quivering frown. _Not always._ For a while, Steve kept his eyes on Bucky, as he didn’t answer. He knew Steve would have to know, eventually. How could he explain himself for that?

Bucky at least tried to map out his thoughts. “I don’t really know what I was doing, or why, but it felt like I was at the end of my road, and that was the way to get out. I didn’t plan it beforehand. I didn’t make a lot of plans when I ran away. Every second I was fighting myself, wanting to go home, then wanting to leave, then not actually going anywhere. Just going in circles. I wanted out of that loop, so when I found one of Natasha’s guns, I thought, ‘This is it. This is the only way. There’s no way you’re getting out of this, and there’s no way things are going back to the way they were before. So you have to do this.’ Even with what everyone else told me, that’s what I kept telling myself. So it’s what I believed.”

Steve nodded. “I know. For a while, I thought the same thing. But I don't want you to think that you can't tell me about this. If anything, I can understand a lot of what you've been through, because we went through it together. You've always been in my life, so I had the hardest time imagining myself without you in it. I don't want that to be the reality. Don't carry everything by yourself.” Steve pulled Bucky against him, and they sat there, leaning into each other, taking in the fact that they were together again. Bucky felt like he could fall asleep like that, and he couldn’t help but smile when he remembered that they would be sleeping in the same bed again. After how long?

Sleeping wasn't much of what they did. They laid on top of their covers, looking more to hold one another than to sleep. They basked in the heat of each other’s skin, and focused on the sound of their breathing in the hush of the room.

Steve wet his lips and pulled away to look at Bucky. “You said something earlier. That we “were” getting married. Are we… still…”

Bucky looked into his eyes, something he found more difficult than it should have been. He had almost forgotten that possibility, lying there, lost in just the presence of Steve once more. He cleared his throat, wondering whether or not that would be best, for the happiness of either of them. But it was his doubt that led to all of this, this calamity, this situation. He needed to trust that things would be okay, and while the future seemed encompassing, imminent, and looming, when the time came for the future to actually show itself, it would simply ease into the present. And they would figure it out.

“How about waiting until I get my left hand back so you can propose to me again?”

Steve smiled.

“…I’ll call Tony tomorrow.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone pointed out the fact that Steve is lying down flat when being defrosted (as opposed to sitting in the chair, when he was going down). I took advantage of this fact, and I am aware that I am evil. <3


	21. The Music Plays, And We Sway

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, jeez *nervous sweating*  
> I'm in the process of moving, so I'm sorry if this seems rushed  
> Do not fret! I will continue onward diligently!

Bucky was back in the Avengers’ laboratory. Sam, Wanda, and Natasha stood in the same places they had before, when Bucky first got his arm removed. Only, now, he was getting it returned. Tony and Steve both stood by Bucky’s chair. Tony’s introduction with Bucky that day was absent of the humorous mood he’d had before. Bucky knew why, and he wouldn’t let it bother him. He had already prepared himself for the cold attitudes the others would have towards him now. He was used to it. 

Steve sat right by Bucky in the lab chair as Tony reapplied the arm. Tony went through the basics of the functions of the arm, and tested each of them with Bucky. It worked perfectly, to no one’s surprise. On the contrary, it moved with much more ease, appeared sleeker, and was lighter than his first arm. The red star on the shoulder of the arm was no longer there. Bucky felt like it was empty without it. 

Bucky was ready to leave the laboratory, but Tony didn’t leave them with the same, monotone demeanor. As they left, Tony gave Bucky a wink and said, “I added a mode that makes the arm vibrate. You know, just in case.” 

Steve whipped around, flushed, and yelled, “Tony! You’d better not be serious!” 

Tony shrugged, leaving the question unanswered. Bucky left quite entertained, trying to control a flustered Steve. 

After returning from the laboratory, Bucky found himself in a familiar situation. He was ordered to report to the authority of the Avengers, but instead of sitting in Nick Fury’s office, he stood in front of Maria Hill’s desk. She definitely had the same feeling about her that Fury did, only, she had a softness in her eyes that Nick lacked. He and Steve sat in the chairs facing her, and both crossed their arms. 

“I’m sure you know how difficult it was to clear your name,” she started, with all three knowing exactly what she was talking about. “Thankfully Romanov was there to save your ass. Surprisingly, Maximoff also acted as an advocate for you. Honestly, we weren’t sure how to handle the situation. At first, we assumed you’d gone AWOL, but we had other things to worry about. After Romanov informed us of your crime, but not your location, capturing and detaining you was certainly the first thing on our minds. But we quickly realized how we’d eventually end up in a shithole. You show your face in the public once and then you just disappear? Not to mention Rogers here wouldn’t shut the hell up about keeping you free, once everyone knew what you’d done.” 

Steve didn’t say anything, only concentrated on her words. 

Bucky decided to be the one to speak. “What’s the plan, now?” 

“Well, your training will be stalled until you start weekly visits with a therapist. Once they decide you’re fit for field work you can be released. Until then, things can go on as normal. You’re still an Avenger, but you’re not allowed to fight just yet. Do whatever. Get married. Get on the news. Take a vacation. I don’t give a damn. Just don’t get yourself into anymore situations that you’ll have to stab your way out of.” 

Bucky nodded slowly, but tilted his head slightly and asked, “How exactly do we plan to keep this a secret? I’m not saying someone will notice the coincidence, but my disappearance and the time of the murder might be suspicious.” 

Maria quirked an eyebrow. “I’m glad you brought that up. If anyone asks…” she paused, reaching into her desk, “you left for northern Nicaragua for your own covert operation after your statement to the public, announcing your allegiance with the Avengers.” She threw a manila folder on the desk. The contents were mission details, which were vaguely familiar to Bucky—this had been one of Natasha’s missions, around a year ago. Only, the information had been rearranged, certain documents being destroyed, others altered, to appear as if Bucky had been the one sent on the mission, and on the date stated. 

He would have to thank Natasha for that later. 

Bucky was dismissed, but Hill held onto Steve for a little bit longer. He tried to retrace his steps back to the lobby, and on the way, ran into Sam. Bucky stopped, and Sam did the same, though he looked as if he wanted to leave. He wouldn’t be surprised. Ever since they saw one another at the farm, Sam hadn’t been as close with Bucky as he had before. Which wasn’t very close in the first place. He wanted to have that casual relationship back, he just didn’t know how to get it. 

Bucky lowered his head and said, “Uh, hey…” 

Sam replied, short and filled with impatience, “Hey.” 

“Look, Sam, I-” Bucky started and looked up, but couldn’t quite get the words out. 

Sam answered by raising a hand. “Stop.” Bucky froze, fidgeting with his hands. Sam sighed and continued to speak. “Sorry. Just… You don’t need to say anything. I don’t know if you can make it up to me. When you left, Steve came to me and looked like absolute shit. He was so distraught. He couldn’t even sit still. You know what he told me? He asked to stay with me because he couldn’t bear sleeping in his bed. It was exhausting to watch him kick himself in the head because he ‘didn’t do enough’ for you. Just watching one of the strongest men I know fall apart, and knowing it was because of you, wasn’t easy. Don’t try to apologize.” 

Bucky only nodded, knowing Sam was right. “I know. There wasn’t a day I didn’t think about Steve.” 

“Then why the hell did you leave him?” Sam eyes hardened, and he shook his head involuntarily. “You could have easily gotten help. You know Steve wouldn’t have given up on you. Instead, you brought Natasha into it. She had to lie to Steve and hide you.” 

“It wasn’t that easy,” Bucky said and dropped his gaze. “It was difficult enough to be free from the countless deaths already at my hands. I had the excuse of being brainwashed. How was I going to explain myself, killing someone after I was supposed to be better? But I guess I was never better. No matter what I do, what Hydra did to me will always be there. Even if Steve would go to the ends of the earth for me, I can’t convince myself that.” 

Sam exhaled heavily. “Well, you’d better learn. If you’re going to be his husband, you need to understand something.” He stepped forward and paused, seemingly upset by what he was about to say. “A few months into the mission, before Steve knew where you were, there was a brawl with the cartel and a large group of his workers. We tried to lessen numbers first, and cut the delivery off from the customer, but Steve ignored those orders and went straight for the cartel. After seeing him, you could tell he was enhanced, and was a good match for Steve. If anything, he might have been stronger. But at one point, Steve threw away his shield. It left him completely vulnerable. He got beat up pretty bad, and nothing serious happened—but he cost us the delivery. When Natasha and I tried to ask him what the hell happened back then, he just had this vacant stare. Both of us knew it was because of you. And that scares me.” He crossed his arms, closer to Bucky than before. “I don’t want to see Steve fall apart again. You’re like his on-switch. I really want to like you, and I guess if you can do that to Steve Rogers, he really does love you. So you’d better take the best goddamn care of him, for both his and my sake.” He gave a small smile. “After all, I’m just saying this as his concerned Best Man.” 

Bucky returned the smile and said, “Funny. He hasn’t proposed yet.” Though he was joking with Sam, his thoughts were stuck on Steve’s reckless actions. He wasn’t going to let that one pass. Jumping out of planes without a parachute was one thing he’d already scolded Steve over, but dropping his shield just brought back memories he’d rather not have. 

Sam and Bucky lost themselves in conversation, which at one point, Wanda joined in. Having been in Bucky’s mind before, she played a large role in defending him during his trial. It also prompted the topic of having him set up for psychological assessments. He was curious if they’d be able to solve anything, but it was unlikely due to the trauma he’d already experienced. It was a hard thing to reverse. He would try, at least, for Steve. 

Steve didn’t say what Hill had told him when he returned. He just greeted Sam and Wanda, then led Bucky away. Both of them were eager to return home. After all, Bucky had just gotten his left hand back. 

They both bustled about the kitchen preparing a nice dinner, and set up the wooden dining table with spare tea lights that laid around the house, and neatly placed dishes. For a bit of flair, Bucky moved their peonies from the windowsill to the center of the table. They both laughed, conversed, and discussed more serious matters equally over dinner, once it’d been prepared. Bucky remembered what he and Sam had talked about before. 

“Oh, hey. I learned something new and stupid you did,” Bucky raised an eyebrow in question. Steve laughed into his wine glass and put it back down. 

“What’s new?” 

“Sam told me you dropped your shield fighting the enhanced target. You know, the one that shot you.” 

Steve sighed out, “That. Right. I know, Bucky, I’m sorry. I… I just jumped into it without thinking. I did a lot of that when I first woke up. I guess I just didn’t care about a lot.” 

“Look,” Bucky grimaced with contempt, but reached out and grabbed Steve’s hand nevertheless. “You can’t tell me to share everything with you and expect not to do the same. You should realize that I can’t lose you either. You’re not invincible, and I know you know that. Please, for us, for all of this,” he said as he gestured around the room, “don’t do anything you know could hurt you.” 

Steve, after a while in which he locked eyes with Bucky, nodded. 

Once they finished, they left the dishes out, unattended, and walked into the living room. Rather, Steve dragged Bucky there by the hand. Bucky laughed to himself as Steve pattered over to the record player and started a slow tune. 

“Wow, I haven’t heard this one in a long time,” Bucky smiled brightly as Steve returned and held up his hand for Bucky to take and dance. He took it, feeling a rush of memories overcome him, and held onto them as they danced. They didn’t move much in the small area of the living room, but were content with holding one another close and swaying softly. Steve looked down at Bucky, his eyes low, and kissed him. 

Steve grinned and muttered, “This is much better than before.” 

Bucky assumed he was talking about being back in wartimes, but was quickly corrected when Steve kneeled, still holding Bucky’s hands. Bucky smiled. Steve was certainly right. He definitely preferred this over the night everything had changed. 

Steve breathed in and looked up, eyes warm, and said, “Buck, you’re undoubtedly the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I want to work harder for you, and with what I do, so that our life will only get better. God knows we’ve been through things we wish we could forget. Do you think…” He stopped and caught his breath, before looking down and taking Bucky’s ring off of his finger. “Do you think we can try again?” He looked back up and grabbed Bucky’s left hand. 

Bucky, still wearing his smile, didn’t hesitate as he said, “Of course.” 

After a little more dancing, and perhaps a lot of fornication, they sat in the living room in the middle of the night. Bucky wasn't sure what came over him, but he asked Steve to fill the empty space on his shoulder that Tony had left. When Steve asked what he wanted, Bucky said, _"Surprise me."_ So, there they sat in silence, as Steve focused sharply with his paintbrush. Bucky simply stared at the ground, and may or may not have almost fallen asleep sitting up. He was only aware of that fact when Steve told him to try and not fall forward, lest he mess up the paint. Steve didn't take long, and after he was satisfied, smiled and sat back proudly. He told Bucky to go look at it in the mirror, but said it still had to dry. Bucky stood and walked to the bathroom, turning on the blinding light, and found himself gawking at the symbol now on his shoulder: Captain America's shield.


	22. Two Words Speak More Than Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yaaay I'm uploading on my phone again  
> *prays that this chapter won't be screwed*

_Steve and I are going to dinner in a few hours. Hopefully tonight will end better than last time. We're going with Natasha and Sam, after all, so maybe she can knock some teeth in if anyone decides to hound us. I remember... I remember back when we lived in Brooklyn, and I would try to get Steve to go on dates with girls around town. But not without me. He had no idea that I wasn't stealing his dates just for the hell of it. I couldn't stand the idea of someone else looking at Steve the same way I saw him. Maybe that was selfish of me? I don't know._

_I keep remembering more. These past almost 3 years I've gotten a lot back, but I still feel like there's a part of my life that's just a huge hole. I suppose that's between getting frozen and wiped, over and over and over again. I'm starting to put together the pieces from the Soldier, I guess. I can see stuff more clearly, like training others, or being inside the laboratory, and even kicking the shit out of some scientists. But no matter what, the assassinations have always been there. Out of all my memories, the ones I don't want are the only ones that have stuck with me. I don't think they'll ever go away. What the hell am I thinking? Can I even go outside at this point? Sometimes I feel like I'm fooling myself._

_Even though Steve's just in the living room, I can't help but feel like if I walk out he won't be there. Or worse. Imagining Steve dead is one of the most exhausting things I can think of. And I try not to. Intrusive thoughts are a bitch. Especially when I start to see the Soldier popping up out of nowhere. I see images of breaking people's arms, or grabbing knives, or hurting myself. They all show up suddenly and unannounced. They mess with my head. I don't want that. I don't want to be that. But they surface anyways, and I indulge them, despite the fact that they leave me feeling absolutely disgusting. How could I tell Steve that I've pictured slamming my own head against counters? Pressing my hand to hot pans? And sometimes, I feel so compelled to do so that I almost go through with it._

_It's so weird to think that we've given a name to simply another, admittedly fucked up part of my life. Whenever I hear "the Soldier," I always think of him as some sort of foreign entity. He's like the personified source of my misery. That may even be true. But I am the Soldier. The Soldier is me. Whenever we talk about how he was an empty shell of a man, a vessel, it's strange to think that I was him at one point, considering I've had most of my life returned to me. But it was never hard to forget being that shell. That's not something you can forget. Just going on was a way to survive, being fed mission after mission with only that purpose to call my own. "Soldier" was my name. Not "Bucky."_

Bucky looked down at the lined paper in front of him. He was at Steve's desk, with words flying around in his head that he couldn't arrange to put down on paper. Whatever he was thinking usually came out in a jumbled mess, jumping from one topic to the next, and resulted in a page of nonsensical babble that only he could decipher. His eyes rose to Cooper's bird, which had made its living space on the corner of Steve's desk by then, considering how much Bucky had written. 

Bucky didn't notice when Steve entered their bedroom, adjusting the belt in his jeans. Steve walked up to his chair and placed a hand on Bucky's shoulder, prompting him to jump and quickly close his journal. Steve looked to him quizzically. He'd dismissed the journal the first time, but now they had a policy: no secrets. And Bucky knew this all too well. For a moment, they kept eye contact, giving no words. But Bucky knew the question that Steve wanted to ask. 

"You can read it, if you want," Bucky finally said and glanced down. 

Steve shook his head. "I don't want that. I want to hear it from you." 

Bucky insisted, "Really." He grabbed the journal and offered it to Steve. "This is as close as you'll get to getting into my brain. And that's without Wanda's help. Sometimes even I can't tell what I'm thinking, so I just have whatever I can construct into sentences here." 

Steve stared at the book before giving a subtle nod, and took it from Bucky's hands. 

"I'll warn you, my handwriting's pretty shitty for about half of that book," Bucky said and smiled. 

Steve snickered and put the journal on his nightstand. "I'll leave that out for later reading material. For now, you and I..." he said as he pointed from Bucky to himself, "have a date." 

"Yeah, in like, two hours." 

"Exactly," Steve said with a grin. He walked back to Bucky's chair and leaned down, scooping his head in his hands as he kissed him. 

After his mouth was no longer occupied, Bucky smirked and said, "And what about our date?" 

"Like you said, it's in two hours," Steve said as another mischievous smile crossed his lips. 

Bucky rolled his eyes, but let Steve distract him anyways. 

After the night out with Natasha and Sam, with only mild paparazzi annoyance, Bucky came out of the shower to see Steve sitting on the living room couch. The journal was in his hand. He didn't seem to notice Bucky, and if he did, he didn't seem to care. His eyes were red, and when Steve finally blinked, a tear fell from his eye, left unattended on his cheek. Bucky sat beside him and let him read, not needing words to understand that they would never leave each other again. 

Bucky's first appointment was two days later. As he expected, they were hired specifically by the Avengers, so there weren't any surprised faces when Bucky Barnes walked into their office. And Bucky wasn't surprised when they addressed his time as the Winter Soldier. It was, after all, the root of his PTSD. How would they expect to solve anything if they didn't know the cause of his problems? As Bucky went through each session with his therapist, they suggested small things that he could do to improve his thought management. They also touched upon his past, and the dissonance from the world around them that he felt, as well as his years in the war, before the Soldier. Though Bucky didn't think they affected him as much as the Big One, nothing was that simple. 

They encouraged Bucky's chronicling of his thoughts, but recommended that he start altering the purpose of his journal. They wanted Bucky to strengthen his identity through his words, and with every negative thought that he wrote, he would weigh it out with three positive ones. What was Bucky thankful for? What did he enjoy doing in his spare time? What small things in life did he love? Of course, Bucky kept writing whatever he could remember, and they condoned this, so long as Bucky didn't find himself stuck in the past. They wanted to make sure that he could move on and heal, and leave he and Steve's old lives behind. 

After all, they were making a new one together. 

Bucky couldn't believe he was currently standing in front of a mirror, adjusting his bowtie with trembling hands. 

Natasha was Bucky's Best Maid, wearing a suit that matched his. It was a simple, black-vested tux, with large buttons that ran down the front, as well as slacks and heeled shoes to match. Clint, being his groomsman, also matched the two. Laura was his groomsmaid, but she decided against wearing a tuxedo. Instead, she wore a sleeveless, dark-gray, ankle-length dress that hugged her sides, with a lace front that lined her chest. Laura's hair was pulled into a braid that crowned her head. 

Natasha padded up behind him and fixed his bowtie, peering over his shoulder and into the mirror. His hair had been parted on one side of his head, the long side falling in soft waves, while the short side was pulled behind his ear. He didn't look familiar to himself. Maybe it was that his skin seemingly glowed, or the bags under his eyes were somewhat faded, but he just felt different. 

"Hey, dreamy-eyes. You're going to be fine," Natasha smiled, saying nothing more, but they both knew what she meant. All of Bucky's doubts had led up to this moment: the day of he and Steve's wedding. 

The grooms(wo)men were the first to head towards the podium. They walked in pairs, arms linked: Natasha & Sam, Laura & Wanda (who wore a layered dress, rose-colored at the bottom, with a black top and thin straps), and Clint & Tony (personally the most amusing to Bucky). Sam, Steve's Best Man, and Tony, who had been downgraded to groomsman status, wore matching tuxes, which donned navy blue vests and similarly colored jackets over them, left unbuttoned. 

Cooper and Lila were the ring bearer and the flower girl (respectively). Lila presented herself proudly as she walked towards the podium, while Cooper shyly held the pillow carrying the rings. After them, it was the grooms' turn to walk. They had rehearsed all of this before, but it nearly knocked the breath out of Bucky when he saw Steve in his tux. Though it was the exact same suit as Sam and Tony's, it was no less magnificent to see it on his soon-to-be husband. 

Steve gave him a smile at the doors leading to the ceremony, before holding out his hand. They had decided to walk each other down the aisle, since they didn't have anyone else. Besides, it wasn't so bad to hold his fiancé's hand as they walked in between the seats that were lined with the Avengers and its various workers (among them being Pepper, Rhodey (who was entrusted with Nathaniel), and Kate). They wanted the wedding to be small and private, though they knew the news of their marriage would get out almost immediately. 

As they walked, Bucky leaned against Steve's arm and whispered, "I wish Sarah could have been here." 

Steve looked down for a moment and muttered, "Me too." 

Hand in hand, they stepped up to the podium and stood across from each other. They kept their hands in one another's. Silence fell upon the guests as the judge spoke their opening remarks, words they'd heard thousands of times, but for the first time it actually meant something. Bucky couldn't stop starting at Steve, who was doing the same. 

Steve's vows were simple, but meant more to Bucky than he could explain. "When we first met, you didn't look like my knight in shining armor. You actually tended to get beaten up right beside me. But you were the first person that didn't treat me like I was some object that could be broken. You treated me like any other kid. Then, when I joined the army, and you saw me like this for the first time, you didn't think that I had 'improved' in some way. You've always seen me as I am. You're one of the few people in my life that could see past what I looked like, whether I was frail or a supersoldier. And I can't thank you enough for that. I know that no matter what, whenever I get old and weary, I can always come back to you, and nothing will have changed." 

Steve slipped the first ring on Bucky's finger. The familiar scratch of metal on metal was light. Then, it was time for Bucky's vows. He couldn't help but feel like his were miniscule in comparison to Steve's. 

"I don't know how we got here. Whatever you want to call it, fate, destiny, or just coincidence, it's led us right here. We should both be dead and in our graves, back in the time that we belonged in. But I would give it all up again to be standing here in front of you, adding your last name to mine." Bucky began to put Steve's ring on his finger, his voice just above a breath. "You've saved me time and time again. From war, torture, and even myself. And I know that whatever fate, destiny, or just coincidence decides to throw at us next, you'll be there to save me again." 

As Steve stood absolutely beaming, the judge asked him to confirm his responsibility to Bucky as his husband, and he concluded the promise with the iconic, "I do." 

And then the question was asked, "And do you, James Barnes, take Steven Rogers as your lawfully wedded husband?" 

That was something he could only _imagine_ hearing in his lifetime. Bucky smiled. 

"I do."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shit since I'm moving idk how good my internet will be... Fuuuuck I hope I get this fic done if my wifi goes to crap  
> If I can't I profusely apologize beforehand


	23. The Way Things Were

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for the mildly late update! (again, i've been busy, so when i got the chance i was writing till about 3 in the morning and then passed out)

The reception hall was dark, illuminated by candles that lined the dining tables, and lanterns that hanged overhead. There was a buffet table, as well as a stage near the back of the hall. Steve pushed to have a jazz band play there, but Bucky figured that would be too out of proportion for them. Small, simple. That’s how he wanted it to be. The guests all sat in their seats with their families, partners, or friends, and watched as Sam took the stage, speaking a word for Steve. He held up a glass of champagne and spoke into the microphone with a grin. 

“Let’s take a moment to consider all the tears that’ll shed tonight when the world hears that Steve Rogers got hitched. You can interpret that as the tears of people mourning the death of hetero Captain America or the ones upset that they aren’t getting married to him. Or, you know, both. Should I say we drink to those tears? Probably not. Okay, I may have already had a few drinks. And I may have walked up here with absolutely no plan for this speech. You could say I’m…” Sam gave a quirky smile as if he were about to laugh and looked around the room for a pause, “…winging it.” 

The entire room collectively groaned. Bucky swore he could hear Clint scowl and mumble, “Of all the bird puns? Are you fucking kidding me?” 

Sam continued after the noise died down. “Not apologizing for that, by the way. But seriously. I want the best for the lovebirds,” at which that word prompted more eye-rolling, “and wish them good luck for their life together. Even if I have to kick some asses. And a word of thanks for Steve, my best friend, and quite possibly the best man I’ve ever met. Even if he does get a little exhausting at times. Oh, and Stark,” he said as he made direct eye contact with Tony, “I win.” He raised the glass in a toast, and the guests did the same. After taking a drink, the room applauded as Sam left the stage and returned to his seat, beside Steve. 

It was then that Natasha rose. The room watched silently as she stepped to the stage, and remained quiet as she spoke. “First of all, I’m not acknowledging that train wreck,” she said as she pointed at Sam, drawing laughs from the guests. Sam looked _personally_ offended, albeit the smile on his face. “I will admit, I never imagined myself as a groomsmaid, or a bridesmaid for that matter. But being someone’s Best? Out of the question. At least, that’s what I thought before I met these two. James here is undoubtedly one of the more pleasant people I’ve had the privilege of meeting, considering both of our lives weren’t very great. He deserves to be recognized for that. Everyone in this room knows what’s happened. What they’ve been through. The fact that we’re standing here, raising full glasses, is definitely something to celebrate. I can’t think of anyone else that these two could possibly be better suited to. If I believed in shit like fate, I’d say they were made for each other. Soulmates, you could call it. But I don’t, so I just say they’re “compatible.” And just that much is good enough for me. Cheers, assholes,” she concluded and raised her glass. 

The room was a small buzz of voices and parties running around the dining area, conversing with each other. Groups of friends and family members congratulated the newlyweds. People that hadn’t seen each other in a while caught up. Steve and Bucky were attached at the hip, and if someone tried to drag one away to dance, the other was close behind. At one point, Laura and Bucky took to the floor. 

As Bucky led, Laura only smiled and said, “Congratulations, James.” 

When the party began to die, Bucky stood with the Bartons, who he’d regularly continued to visit after he’d returned home, most often with Natasha. But not always. Steve stood speaking with Sam and Natasha, who had also stayed after most of the guests had to depart, seen as most of them couldn’t stay late. Tony seemed sore towards Steve, deliberately avoiding him, but Bucky knew it was just a small ruse to seem stubborn. He and Sam found it particularly amusing. 

As Laura stood beside him, Bucky smiled and asked if he could hold Nathaniel. As she held him out, and Bucky cradled the small boy that looked like he was growing every day, he told himself, _This has to be a dream._ He felt at ease speaking with Clint and Laura, who mostly droned on about what their plans were. They asked if they’d be finding a house (where Laura alluded to finding some place to live near their home), whether they’d continue working or take a break after a while, and then the topic of children was brought up. Bucky laughed nervously, and for a moment as he held Nathaniel, he could almost tell himself that he could have a family. Laura and Clint seemed to be thinking the same as they smiled with him. He merely told them that they hadn’t thought about it. Laura said that they should. 

This thought was cemented into his mind as Lila ran to Steve and said, “Does this mean you’ll come visit with Uncle Bucky now?” 

Cooper seemed to gain confidence as he approached Steve and said, “More importantly, can I tell my friends that _Captain America_ is _my uncle_ , too?” 

Steve looked to Bucky with surprise, who looked back at him with a smile. He answered with, “Of course,” and patted both of their heads. Both groups merged back as the Bartons had to leave, and Natasha, Sam, Steve, and Bucky were left in the reception hall. They laughed seemingly endlessly. 

For the first time in a while, he forgot what had happened a year ago. He thought it was insane that he’d returned to Steve merely three months before, after being separated for nine, and now, they were married. No tricks, no wishes. It was unquestionable that he was at the reception of his own wedding, surrounded by his loved ones, by the side of his new husband, but old best friend. He thought of when they met, young and reckless, and wondered if either of them knew what storm they’d be whirled into. One action by Bucky all those years ago, introducing himself after helping Steve from a gang of bullies, changed their entire lives. Those boys were inseparable, and remained that way. They dove into war. The idea that it was Bucky, Steve’s Bucky, that was claimed by Hydra and turned into the Winter Soldier was unbelievable. 

If Bucky was able to go back in time and tell that ordinary kid what would happen if he approached that skinny, blonde boy, would he turn the other way? Would he avoid his fate, at the expense of a lifelong friendship, that blossomed into an unbreakable bond? Would that child, so unknowing, so oblivious and unprepared, turn the other cheek and allow Steve, a complete stranger, to stay that way? Would he leave him to get beaten up by the boys in the schoolyard to keep himself sane, to prevent years of torture, and leave the two of them to live their lives separately? 

Not a chance. 

Bucky didn’t know why those thoughts plagued his mind as they drove back home. It wasn’t like he could go back, but still, he considered the possibility. Maybe it was a confirmation to himself that no matter what, he couldn’t lose Steve. He could lose everything, his mind, his name, but if he had Steve, he would be okay. Because he knew that Steve would go through any means to return his mind, his name, whatever it was that Bucky was missing. They completed one another. 

Sadly, work couldn’t permit them time to get away for a honeymoon. They weren’t complaining, seen as they’d rather spend the first few days of their post-marriage holed up with one another. It really didn’t matter where they spent it. Bucky honestly thought that home would have been best, anyways. 

Steve and Bucky nearly tripped over themselves as they pushed past their front door. They were already tied to each other’s lips, hands travelling frantically across one another’s bodies, tugging their clothing hastily off. They stumbled into the bedroom, and Bucky not-so-gracefully fell back onto the bed after his legs hit the edge. Steve laughed as he continued to kiss at Bucky’s neck, jaw, and lips. They slowly crawled up the bed, still half-dressed, but determined to feel one another. Without word, Steve hooked his hands on Bucky’s hips and turned him over. Bucky wasn’t complaining. 

Bucky lost track of time, as he couldn’t care how long Steve had been inside of him, meeting him with a strength that left Bucky’s thoughts incoherent. Bucky’s back arched into him, steeling his hands on the headboard, and met every one of Steve’s thrusts. Both had long discarded their clothes and were slick with sweat. The only sound either of them could hear was the smacking of skin and the heaviness of their breathing, though Bucky could swear his heart had been beating so violently that it was audible in the room. Both he and Steve uttered one another’s names, being slurred by moans. Steve laced his fingers in Bucky’s hair and tugged, pulling his head back as he leaned forward. Bucky craned his neck and latched to Steve’s lips, catching his bottom lip between his teeth as he hissed. As Steve moved to kiss along the back of his neck, his hands traveled to Bucky’s member, moving vigorously against him. 

Steve came first, choking against Bucky’s skin, and finished off his husband with his hands. Due to their improved stamina, both took quite a while. After doing a half-assed attempt at cleaning one another, they laid back in bed. Feeling sleep as a daunting ghost, they laid in the quiet of the room, as Bucky traced Steve’s jaw with his fingers. He opened his mouth, with a question lying on his drowsy tongue. Perhaps he’d become delusional with sleep-deprivation. 

“What do you think about… about having a child?” 

Steve sat up. Bucky was afraid he’d scared him, but as he looked up at Steve, he saw that one of the warmest smiles had crossed his lips. “Bucky…” 

Bucky quickly slapped his chest. “It’s just an idea. There’s no way that’s happening.” 

Steve only raised an eyebrow and took him back in his arms. 

Bucky was filled with a new sense of contentment as he realized this was going to be his new life. Things wouldn’t change much in he and Steve’s relationship, except now, they could proudly present each other as their ‘husband.’ They didn’t have to hide anymore. They had made a promise to each other to always be there. That in itself was enough to make Bucky feel like everything could only get better from there. 

Three weeks later, after returning home from an appointment, Bucky hung their car keys on the hook near the entryway and pulled off his jacket. He excitedly hurried into the bedroom, seeing Steve sitting at his desk, filing papers. He announced a, “Welcome home,” as he heard Bucky enter the room. 

“Steve,” Bucky said and stood over his husband. 

“Hmm?” Steve hummed and raised his eyebrows, still turned to his work. “How did today go?” 

“I got approved.” 

Steve paused. He took a moment, as if weighing Bucky’s words, and then quickly turned. “You’re clear to work again?” 

Bucky nodded, a smile spreading on his face. 

Steve returned the expression and stood, taking Bucky in his arms. They held one another tightly, taking a deep breath in, filled with concern and relief and happiness. Bucky figured he shouldn’t have been as happy as he was to go out and fight again. But it was reassuring to know that he would be there with Steve, and he wouldn’t be waiting for a flag to come back instead of his husband. That was enough for him.


	24. Means to an End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I

Bucky and Sam frequently met up to work, seen as he was okayed to be in the field once more, and he had a year of inaction that he needed to make up for. Steve sometimes tagged along, and they suddenly found themselves in the public eye again. They tried to ignore the paparazzi the best that they could, only knocking down rumors if the need should present itself. They occasionally brought along Natasha and, like a magic trick, the cameras would disappear. 

The day before leaving on a new assignment with Natasha and Steve, they all went through a last training session. Tony made sure that everything was working properly with his arm, and showed Bucky new functions that he had added to it (“This fucker has _rockets_?” “And a toolset?” “…I didn’t think the vibrating mode was serious.”). He sparred with Steve and Natasha, trying to keep his metal arm out of the equation, until they both told him he needed to use it. He wouldn’t admit that he went easy on them, even after accidentally giving Steve a bloody nose. He and Natasha worked in arms, where she appointed separate targets for him to sharpshoot, as their marksman.

As what seemed to be the final trial, he sat in an enclosed room with Wanda and Steve, who insisted on being there. He couldn’t tell when she peered into his mind, but after a bout of silence, she nodded at Steve, who sighed with relief.

They sat in Steve’s cell, lying on his bunk. They were currently on one of the Avengers’s jets, heading to their next mission, which Bucky had been both anticipating and severely resenting. They’d all been given their own cells, and even though they were only going to be used for one night, Bucky still found himself sneaking into Steve’s room. They just wanted to kill time on the flight there, and Bucky would probably go back to his own room when they needed to go to sleep. Probably.

“Hey, babe, look at this,” Bucky smiled and held his phone up for Steve to see.

Laura had sent him a picture message, along with a text.

_Cooper went on a field trip today. Look what he found :)_

The picture attached was a plaque that Bucky recognized. It was his memorial in Captain America’s Museum. At least, the updated version: His lifespan had been changed to 1917 – Present. At the bottom, it read, _Four years after Captain Rogers was unearthed, it was revealed Sergeant Barnes was pulled from the ice as well. Captain Rogers had no prior knowledge that Sergeant Barnes had survived in 1944. He has since joined Captain Rogers as an Avenger and his partner. At age 99, James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes-Rogers married Steven Grant Barnes-Rogers, 97 years of age._

Bucky tried not to smile. He thought it was like a dream, seeing the world recognize him as Steve’s husband. Like Fury expected, everyone that was upset that their role model turned out to not be straight stopped complaining when Steve saved more lives. Maybe he saved the world for the third time, who knows. Bucky was kind of losing track.

Completely ignoring the fact that he was mentally jumping for joy, Bucky huffed, “Oh my god, my name. What a fucking mouthful.”

Steve added, “And why do they have to use our real ages? We sound so old when they write it like that.”

“Says you, Mr. _I’m-two-years-younger_.”

“Hey, just wait a month and it’ll only be by one year. Besides, you look a hell of a lot better than me. I mean, at least for your age,” Steve said snidely.

“Fuck you.”

Bucky hit Steve on the chest, before Steve leaned forward and whispered into his ear, “Would you, Mr. Barnes-Rogers?” Bucky rolled his eyes, nudging Steve away, but not after he slipped off the side of the cot and onto his knees. Steve said, a bit surprised, “…I wasn’t being serious.”

Bucky just shrugged, only muttering, “I just thought, I’m not going to be able to lay a hand on you for maybe… a month?”

As Bucky unraveled Steve’s belt and threw it to the side, Steve said, “A month. Is it going to be that bad?”

“Like torture.” Bucky forced a pout as he pulled Steve’s cock out of the zipper of his pants, feeling it heavy in his hand. Steve let out a grunt and fidgeted, bracing his fingers on the edge of his bunk as Bucky stroked him. Bucky watched as Steve became hard, and his member grew. Bucky twirled his tongue around the head as his eyes fell closed. His hand continued to work at the base as he slowly took Steve’s cock in his mouth, pulling his lips taut against his skin. He slowly made his way further before he slid back up, and began to bob his head with Steve in between his lips. Steve combed his fingers through Bucky’s hair, which had been recently cut to its original length, and pushed his head further down. Steve accompanied the move with a thrust, and Bucky thanked his own lack of gag reflex. As Steve continued to buck his hips, and Bucky pumped his hands where his lips didn’t reach, he threw his head back. Bucky loved the moan that fell out of Steve’s mouth, as his movements grew more fervent.

Bucky and Steve likewise stopped when they heard a loud knock.

Natasha’s voice came from the other side of the wall, in the next cell over. “Turn it down, unless you have every intention of inviting me in. Cause it already feels like I’m in the room.”

Steve turned his head toward the wall and said, quite bold, almost too much so, “What noise are you talking about? Buck’s currently got his mouth full.”

Bucky immediately hit Steve on the thigh, eyes wide with disbelief. Natasha groaned, “I swear to god. I’m going to kill the both of you. I just want to sleep. Can my lullaby not be the two of you nutting? That’s all I ask."

“I’m just saying, the quicker you shut up, the faster it’ll be over,” Steve said, and Bucky could swear he was possessed. Well, he couldn’t really talk. _Okay. No. That sounded wrong. I mean, I do kind of have Captain America’s dick in my mouth, but. Whatever._

There was a pause before Natasha’s voice returned, rushed, as if she were talking to herself, “That’s it. I’m going to hang out in the cabin. Don’t bother to come get me. If I’m not back in the morning, I jumped off.”

Bucky popped his lips off of Steve and was about to call out to her, but Steve waved it off. “She’ll be back.”

Bucky smirked when a thought came to his head. “I could send her a picture.”

__“…Yeah, then she might jump off.”_ _

__The mission went just as expected. That is, Steve jumped into it with a plan and Bucky and Natasha had to save his ass. Steve could take care of himself, but if he were ever presented with a challenge, he would undoubtedly accept it. But that was just Steve. Bucky couldn’t say he was any different. They returned home relatively unscathed, and though Bucky had the looming fear that he would see the Soldier as he fought, he kept his mind steady and focused on what he needed to do. He needed to protect Steve and Natasha.  
__

That was all that mattered. 

* * *

__Years later, Steve and Bucky retired their mantles, breaking from the Avengers. They settled into a small neighborhood, away from the city, to protect their privacy. It was only a few hours in either direction from Manhattan and Clint's homestead. It was just peace that they looked for. One night they laid in bed, hands perched on one another’s chests as they slept, overcome with exhaustion._ _

__“Steve…” Bucky breathed as he opened his eyes. Steve wasn’t quite awake yet, but Bucky changed that as he shook his husband._ _

__Steve groggily mumbled, “What? What is it?” He sat up, eyes lidded, as if there was something wrong._ _

__That’s when he noticed it—the faint knocking at their bedroom door. Steve looked to him with a giddy smile, which Bucky returned a look of derision, and slid off the bed. His feet fell heavily on the wood floors as he made his way to the door, and opened it. Bucky watched as Steve let in a small figure, cloaked in the dark of the room. They promptly made their way past Steve and crawled into the bed._ _

__Ever since their daughter, Anha, had arrived in their home, she’d stuck to her new fathers like glue. She also got along with the others that made their way into her life, but she seemed to take a particular liking to Natasha. Bucky sometimes took her out on drives to see her cousins Cooper, Lila, and Nathaniel, who had all grown considerably. They’d only been together long enough to celebrate one of her birthdays (her eighth), and yet Bucky didn’t think he could love someone more. He felt these thoughts overcome him as she stuffed her face in between he and Steve’s pillows. Steve laid silently back down, throwing the comforter back over the three of him._ _

__Bucky remembered everything as he held his daughter, and his husband, Steve Rogers, both of whom he loved very deeply, knowing the next day he had a date with Natasha and Laura, and Steve was going with Sam to a movie (it was called Rocky Horror something, Sam swore Steve would relate to it, and not to question the things being thrown at the screen), knowing he’d be able to spend the rest of his life in peace, surrounded by people that he cared about, and that cared for him too, and knowing he’d never have to return to the mission._ _

__Even if sometimes, he slipped and fell back, he knew he had someone there to catch him. That was all Bucky needed._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm having such a hard time processing this  
> It's over?!?  
> Of course, I have more series planned, as well as one-shots, but I'm going to miss this one especially so much!  
> To everyone who's stuck through this, especially when I was slacking, and through the tears and the happiness, thank you so much <3 I love seeing comments omg they always make me so happy. Thank you again! 
> 
> Goodbye, And We See Our Ghosts Everyday. It was nice having you. Even with your lengthy name and stupid cryptic chapter titles.
> 
> If you'd like to see anything, or if you have any ideas, please comment!  
> I'd love to have some requests (and they can be from practically any fandom, I'm into a lot of shit).


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